


Spires of Freedom 'Verse – And I Have Been Consumed, [NC-17] Sam/Dean, SPN AU

by meus_venator



Series: Stumbling Towards Spires of Freedom 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Dean whumpage, Demons, Incest, M/M, Monsters, NC-17, Rape, Rope Bondage, Slave!Dean, Slavery, Tentacle Porn, Vampires, Very Dark!fic, abused!Dean, dark!Sam, dark!fic, evil!Sam, horror/violence, non-con, slave!fic, spn au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 60,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having just escaped from three years of slavery at the mercy of Hands and Fists Dean enlists Bobby’s aid in finding a cure for the witch’s curse Sam is laboring under. Before Dean can use it he falls into the hands of a group of demons running one of the most infamous brothels in North America. The new man in charge there… none other than his brother Sam</p><p><b>A/N:</b> Originally posted here: <a href="http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/28629.html"><b>And I Have Been Consumed Master Post on my LJ</b></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And I Have Been Consumed

**Author's Note:**

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> **Title:** And I have Been Consumed   
>  **Author:** meus_venator  
>  **Alpha:** varkelton (LJ)  
>  **Beta and Editor:** fufaraw (LJ), **Beta:** sylsdarkplace (LJ)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17   
>  **Genre/pairing:** Sam/Dean, OMCs/Dean   
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Genre:** AU  
>  **Word count:** 61k  
>  **Summary:** Having just escaped from three years of slavery at the mercy of Hands and Fists Dean enlists Bobby’s aid in finding a cure for the witch’s curse Sam is laboring under. Before Dean can use it he falls into the hands of a group of demons running one of the most infamous brothels in North America. The new man in charge there… none other than his brother Sam.
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>  **Warning/Enticements:** This fic is graphic, it contains a character dealing with both the aftermath and current repercussions of torture, sexual abuse, slavery and horror violence. M/M sex, non-con, rape and horror violence as well as many D/s and slave!fic elements. Tentacle!porn, enemas and milking may also pop their head up in this fic.  
>  **Disclaimer:** 'Supernatural' and its characters do not and never have belonged to me. The only thing I lay claim to is the story itself.  
>  **Written for:** Hard Core Big Bang (LJ) http://spn-hardcore-bb.livejournal.com/  
>  **Master Post on LJ:** meus-venator.livejournal.com/28629.html
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>  **Art Mast Post on LJ:** See beautiful original art for story here: by tinnory (LJ) http://tinnory.livejournal.com/2400.html
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> [ Book Cover ] 

 

 

  


 

 

 

  


_Part 1 –_

 

 

_Lamantations 3:22  Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail._

: : :

_The Dream began as it always did. It was one of his favorites. He and Sammy were in the Impala. They were heading down the road, on a hunt, the road lay straight before them, the sun warm and bright in the midday sky, wheels humming as they moved along. He didn't know where they were going exactly but he felt a sense of purpose as he gripped the Impala’s steering wheel. Sam laughed at some comment Dean made and then dipped his head down, hair falling to hide his eyes as he went back to analyzing the maps and case notes spilling across his lap._

_Dean smiled fondly at his brother as his hand reached out to flick on the radio, low. Tapping his hands on the wheel as a favorite song came on Dean’s gaze scanned the horizon for any sign of trouble. All was calm and serene and Dean relaxed back into the bench seat. He and his brother were happy and together and all was right with the world._

* * *

_The sound of a transport air horn woke him. Dean startled at the sound and jerked to wakefulness. He rubbed his face blearily trying to keep the snatches of the dream and the peaceful sense of rightness from slipping away. It had been so long since things had been right for Dean._

_He bit his lip and looked at the cellphone lying on the passenger seat. He snatched it up and flipped it open. He took a ragged breath trying to work up his nerve and then, thinking better of it snapped the phone closed again. Dean let the hand holding the phone slide wearily down to his lap and tapped it against his leg, debated for the hundredth time if he should place the call or not; if he should re-open this door._

_He threw the phone down on the seat beside him and then in a fit of exasperation grabbed it back up again. The sad truth that he couldn’t really get any further on his own stared him in the face. In order to finish this he had to place the call._

_“Bobby? Yeah i-it’s me Dean Winchester. Y-yeah long time no hear...”_

_“Yeah I know Bobby, I- it’s complicated. Listen I’m only a state over, would it be okay if I dropped by? I-I need your help. Yeah sure. My dad... Ah, I can’t really get into that now Bobby. When I see you, all right? I know, yeah, I know Bobby, see ya then.” Dean swore and dropped the phone, rubbing his sweaty hands along his jeans. Shit, that was twice as tough as he'd thought it would be, and he hadn’t even touched on the hard part yet._

_Dean stamped on the gas and the old Ford lurched forward. Not as smooth as the Impala, but no slouch. It was dependable and solid, but it still felt like a shabby substitute for the real thing. He itched to have the Impala’s steering wheel under his palms, the smooth feel of the worn leather, the way the engine burped just a little when he came to a stop, the soft rumble as he hit sixty on a clear road and she opened up and just hummed along._

_For now he had a brother to hunt. Maybe with Bobby’s help, along with the answers Dean had already found, they could make this happen._

_Six hours later he was pulling in to Singer Salvage. It had been the only real home he and Sam had known after their mother died. The only non-mobile place in their lives. Bobby represented stability, and safety; a place to recuperate and let their guard down. Or it had. That was until the curse, and Dean had gotten to see Bobby’s from a whole different perspective, chained and gagged in the cage on Fist’s truck bed._

_The cage had been sweltering in the summer under the old tarp with Rumsfeld in the driveway growling at the cage and its mysterious occupant. Nearly freezing to death in the winter, thankful their winter stops were never overnight; the iron of the chains holding him down so cold they left burn marks on his ankles and wrists. Surviving only thanks to an old bearskin rug he was allowed to huddle under, counting the seconds till they could leave and Dean would be allowed to crouch on the floor in the blessedly heated back of the half ton’s miniscule back row._

_Bobby had never suspected a thing._

: : :

_“What do you mean John and Sam were cursed. Since when? Boy, you take me for an idjit? This is one sad miserable way to get back at your poor dead daddy, son. After all he did for you?”_

_Bobby paced angrily across the kitchen, banged open the fridge door, and grabbed a beer. He slammed the fridge door closed, angrily twisted the cap off the bottle and threw it in the sink._

_“Now tell me again, like I’m slow or somethin’. You’re saying you been a slave to John and Sam for the last three years? You sure you didn’t get dropped on your head? They been here at my house more’n once in that time. You think I wouldn’a noticed something like them bein’ under a spell?”_

_“Bobby, remember back, we were on a hunt in Wichita, there’d been a string of gruesome murders?”_

_“Yeah, I remember your dad talkin’ about it. Keep talkin’.” Bobby scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck in agitation. Dean could tell he felt conflicted talking about John and Sam behind their backs, as it were. He rushed to get in his story before Bobby shut down completely._

_“Well it was a witch, she’d summoned Yangon and had worked an influence spell over anyone who had ever slighted her. It forced them to destroy those closest to them. I was sick as a dog and couldn’t go with them that day. Spent the whole time they were gone puking my guts out at the hotel. When Dad and Sammy returned I knew something was wrong.”_

_“Anyone could know that Dean, how does that prove your Dad and Sam were under a spell.”_

_“They kept me in a god damn cage in the back of the truck Bobby! You know that black dog they were taking to Rufus to examine? Well it wasn’t a black dog, it was me, damn it, didn’t you ever wonder why Dad always had the cage on the truck? I remember you talking about a Voodoo case in Black Creek; the elder had been sacrificing young children from the town to get his mojo up.”_

_“Anyone could know that...”_

_“But you talked about it right beside my cage. You mentioned that the police never released the fact he was cutting their baby fingers off – for use in hex bags, you thought. Disgusting creature you said, preying on young children. Should have his balls cut off and put them into one of his hex bags.”_

_Bobby looked at him then, really looked at Dean like he was seeing him for the first time since he came through the door. His pale blue eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared up under the brim of his tattered baseball cap._

_Dean sat down on the old kitchen table, suddenly exhausted, “They didn’t mean to do what they did, Bobby. I-it wasn’t them, wasn’t their fault. And Chris wouldn’t have shot Dad if he hadn't've been going to drag me off in that damn cage again. They were possessed, both of them. Sammy still is.”_

_“If they did all that, why did you stay with them, Dean? Jesus, three years, that sounds like hell, boy. Why didn't you try and come to me?” Bobby grabbed his hat down off his head and started to twist it in his hands. Dean could see his knuckles were white where they grasped the frayed rim._

_“I stayed to try and find a cure Bobby, I just never thought things would get as bad as they did. When I reached a dead end on my own I tried to get out. But things were...things were bad Bobby. I-I couldn’t escape. I tried, they may have been cursed but they were hunters, after all. Even now, I feel like I’ve only got half the answer.”_

_Dean rubbed his hand through his hair wearily and stared out the window, “Every time we came here they had me bound and gagged within an inch of my life. There was no way I was getting a message to you then. And when I was with them, they kept me pretty, shall we say, ‘occupied’. Honestly Bobby, I don’t even want to talk about it. If I could have found an answer on my own, you’d never have heard a peep out of me on the subject. But Sam’s still cursed and I’ve only got half a cure, which is half of nothing. Can you help me, Bobby?”_

_Bobby nodded and bit his lip in concentration, “Yagon you say. Okay kid, gimme a couple of days. I’m on it.”_

: : :

“Well look what we got here? Looks like we caught ourselves a hunter.” The Demons pulled opened the steel door to the pit and walked in, their black eyes gleaming. Dean’s head still rang and his vision was blurry as he looked up to see four, or maybe it was only two, demons descending upon him. Alarm bells were sounding in his head but he couldn’t force his hands or feet to cooperate, couldn’t make his body rise up from where he lay on the cold stone floor. 

He had left Bobby’s to do a slow circuit around L.A. It had been good getting the dust off the Ford and hitting the road to go on a hunt. Doing something instead of endless days of researching. He had caught word of a ghost in southern California rumored to be haunting an old abandoned church. By sheer luck he had caught sight of the spirit out of the corner of his eye and had pulled out his crowbar for protection. 

He needed to get to the old church graveyard registry and see if he could find where one Alicia Whitehead was buried. He was running toward the abandoned rectory office, old wood floors groaning under his weight when it happened. It should have been a simple salt and burn; then the floor had opened up beneath him and Dean had fallen, crashing to the pit below, the trap door grazing the side of his head as he fell through it. 

“Ha, like catching fish in a barrel, this setup. We keep settin' 'em up, and the hunters keep on a-comin’,” the first demon to reach him said, as he tipped Dean’s face back and forth, looking at him carefully before commenting, “Hmm, look what we got here. Never seen a hunter as pretty as you, boy. You lot are usually a lot tougher looking than this, downright grizzly. This changes things up a bit. We might even get a bonus for this one.” 

Dean moaned weakly as he tried to bat the demon’s hands away, but the demon just laughed as it reached down to sling Dean up over its shoulder. The room spun violently and Dean swallowed rapidly as his head bounced off the hard-muscled Demon's ass. Whoever owned the body before being possessed was in good shape, he thought idly, before retching as dizziness at the sudden movement had him spewing his breakfast down the back of the demon's legs.He choked and sputtered trying not to pass out as he hung head down over the creature’s back. The Demon snarled and said, “You’ll pay for that, pretty boy, after we get you back to _The Den_.”

The other Demon snorted in glee and lifted Dean’s head up by his hair and laughing as he looked Dean in the face saying, “We have special plans for you, pretty hunter. Special plans.”

: : :

It had been the third creature that night, and Dean was exhausted and in pain. He lay on his back limp on the bed, uncaring that come was leaking out of his sore and aching ass onto the dirty sheets beneath him. He swallowed weakly, the lump in his throat catching on the soft worn leather of the collar strapped round his neck. It was hot in the small cell and the lurid red walls of the room he was forced to work out of were starting to close in. The single barred window high on the wall provided no air to speak of except when the door opened and closed briefly and that was usually only long enough for another client to enter. 

Bathed in his own sweat and the fluids of the evening’s clients, Dean lay there panting. Demons might not mind the heat but humans did and he could barely breathe. He was sprawled spread eagle, too hot and exhausted to do more than lie there and listen to the moans and screams coming from the surrounding cells, the chain on his collar tethering him to the bed. 

The girl in the cell beside him, Jennifer, had decided one night to keep bashing her head into the wall until she couldn’t any longer. Now there was no sound from her cell, at least not until fresh meat was brought in to replace her. The shock of finding out all the things that went bump in the night were actually real had been too much for her. Being kidnapped and spirited off to a demon brothel kind of broke her the rest of the way. Dean’s whispered reassurances through the small opening by the heating pipes between their cells had not been enough to convince her to hang on. And could he blame her really? He was one step away from bashing his own brains in, himself.

The door was kicked open, and Dean jerked as it slammed back against the wall as the Tragor demon strode into the room. Merle, Innocuous name for something that snacked on human meat, fresh or otherwise, and weighed in at over three hundred pounds. If you could ignore the razor sharp row of spines that projected out of its back, it looked nearly human.

Dean tensed and wanted to flatten himself into the corner, but the chain running from his collar to the loop welded onto the metal frame of his bed restricted his options. The Tragor loomed over him critically surveying his body.

“Hmm, you humans just don’t stand up all that well under use do you?”

Dean didn’t really see how that was a question he should comment on so he kept his mouth shut.

“I got a new VP from management I wanted to send in to you. He’s scouting for a new ‘companion’, but he don’t like sloppy seconds. Shame, you’re his type, from the memo that went out. Word is he’d make it worth any floor manager’s while if we spotted the right goods. He’s lookin’ for something to keep special. Keep ready for him at all times.” The Tragor pulled an old polaroid camera up in front of his face and bent over to focus on Dean’s face.

“Smile, pretty hunter. Smile for the camera.” 

Dean tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes from the flash but it had already gone off. The Tragor straightened and shook the white square in front of him; the piece of plastic ridiculously small in his large hairy hands. On a completely abstract note, Dean was amazed he could still even find film for the thing anymore. He squinted small beady eyes at the developing image, then turned and with no warning, smashed Dean across the face. 

Dean saw black for a moment as his neck snapped around and his face was slammed into the mattress. The Tragor’s huge hand reached out before he could find his wits, and positioned his face square to the camera. “Hold still, damn it! You ruined the last one. You think weres and demons or the odd vampire are the only things that want to fuck your pretty ass? I got bigger, meaner things that would love to snack on you, if you don’t behave and do what you’re told.” Dean barely had time to open his eyes before the flash went off. “Good, good, much better.” The Tragor muttered a few minutes later as Dean’s new mug shot developed.

“I think we’ll put you in the sties for a few days. Show you how good you got it here.” Merle promised as he stared down at Dean on the bed. Then he reached down and casually unzipped his pants, letting his cock spring free of his trousers. Blessedly free of any ridges or spines, it hung beside Dean’s head on the pillow. 

Dean shivered and bit back a whimper. The sties… holy shit, once had been enough. “Please Merle...” Dean shut his mouth with a snap as Merle held up his hand. 

“I didn’t give you permission to speak. If I wanted you to speak I’d fucking tell you to. Your mouth is meant for better things than showing off how tiny that ex-hunter brain is of yours. I don’t even know why we try and stock hunters, you’re all a pain in the ass. Now get busy.” 

Dean turned his face toward Merle so his dick was right in front of him and swallowed before opening his mouth. With Merle, Dean wasn’t expected to take the lead, Merle liked it hard and he liked it fast with the demon firmly in charge. All Dean had to do was take it and try and stay conscious. Merle’s already half-hard flesh shoved into his mouth, and Dean tried to not gag when Merle’s dick bumped up against the back of his throat. He tried to swallow around the flesh and on Merle’s second thrust was able to cope better. Merle pulled back long enough for Dean to gasp a breath and the demon reached down and uncharacteristically ran his hand down Dean’s face as he stuffed his fat cock back down his throat. “Pretty, pretty, hunter. So many of you hunters aren’t so pretty – too many scars in wrong places. You should be good to Merle. Make Merle happy.”

Dean tried to nod but he could hardly move his head. Tears were in the corner of his eyes as he choked Merle’s cock down. Merle kept up his patting of Dean’s head. The demon’s pace grew erratic and Merle grabbed the back of Dean’s head, shoving his face right into the demon’s groin. Dean gave up any hope of breathing for the moment and had to purposefully bury his hands in the sheets to stop from trying to push Merle off. One final twitch and the demon was coming, jets of come shooting down Dean’s throat. The demon tipped back his head and groaned as he pulsed again into Dean’s mouth. Dean blinked up at the demon, helpless, mouth overflowing with come that leaked out past the dick stuffing his face to drip down on his jaw and neck.

Finally softening, the demon withdrew and Dean gasped in lungfuls of air. Coughing and choking, he curled up in the bed as much as the chains would allow trying to get his breath back.

The demon reached out and ran his hand along Dean’s bare back, petting him like a small dog.

“Good boy. Maybe we’ll let you sleep here tonight and tomorrow you’ll go to the sties.”

Dean nodded, grateful, tears leaking from his eyes as the demon continued to rub him.

Dean swallowed back the come that wanted to eject itself from his stomach and looked up at his master’s softened dick still hanging out of his dress pants. Taking the not so subtle hint Dean raised himself on shaking hands to clean his master off.

“Ah good pet, such good manners. Such a pretty hunter.” Dean licked at the black spend covering the demon’s cock and fought back the urge again to spew. Keeping Merle happy was an important part of surviving _The Raiser’s Den_ and maybe living to see the sunlight again.

Finally finished, Dean let his trembling arms collapse while Merle tucked himself in. The flash of the camera caught Dean unaware and he felt himself fall back onto the pillow. Merle waved the little square until with a satisfied smirk he said, “Ah, now that’s a better look. Humiliation looks so much better on you, pretty hunter, than defiance.” Chuckling, he left the room, leaving Dean in alone in the near gloom. Only the rhythmic flash of red, pink, blue from the neon side outside filtered its way into the dingy room.

He flung his arms over his eyes, blocking out the rhythmic blinking of the lights and wondered what his friends were up to now, what they were doing? It had been months since he’d contacted them last, assuming a clean break was better for all of them. He wondered if Doreen’s cooking had gotten any better or if Ted had finally bought that dog he’d confided to Dean that he’d wanted, not just for it’s companionship but to also to help clean up the bits of Doreen’s cooking Ted couldn’t digest. Dean smiled to himself. Poor Ted. When he’d saved Dean and brought him back to his little bungalow on the outskirts of LA, one of his biggest warnings was about Doreen, his wife of over thirty years, and her cooking. He wasn’t wrong. 

He wondered what project cars Lawrence had acquired by now. The man loved to tinker, and between them the Winchester family had cleared out all his classics. Dean by taking the Ford and Fists by taking out the Charger. If Dean knew Lawrence, the man probably already had a new project car up on the hoist, grumbling about the cost of parts and fending off buyers who wanted it chop-topped and pimped out. Lawrence was a purist. 

Dean blew out a breath when his mind turned to what Anna might be doing right now: if she’d papered the bedroom in her new house like she’d planned, if the bathroom faucet was still dripping in the downstairs powder room. His heart started to ache at the thought of all the jobs left undone. He thought of the first day she took possession, and Dean and some of the other guys helped her move in. He remembered pulling her aside into the still empty living room so that his work-rough hands could cup her face. How he drew her closer so his lips could touch hers, sweet and soft and giving. 

Then he wasn’t trying not to remember anything at all. And if Dean cried himself to sleep that night, trying not to think about all he had lost in his quest to get back his brother there was no one there to know.

: : :

_Dean was in Bobby’s old bathroom upstairs. He’d just had a shower and was getting ready for bed. The talk with Bobby had exhausted him, left him gutted, telling even this small part of his Dad's and Sam’s secret to Bobby. Dean shook his head as met his eyes in the mirror. The Dean of old wouldn’t have hesitated; he would have laid it all out, every sordid detail, in the effort to help Sam. But this Dean knew quick confessions didn’t necessarily yield quick answers, and the more Dean could keep from Bobby of what went on, the better Sam’s life would be in the future. He didn’t need Sam’s humiliation on his conscience. He already felt guilty enough for not finding a cure sooner._

_Deflated, Dean let his head drop between his shoulders, his arms braced on either side of the sink. If only he’d been able to find a cure, his dad might still be alive. His shoulders shook as silent tears trickled down his cheeks._

_A quick rap on the door and Bobby was already swinging it open and leaning into the room. “Dean, Dean, I think I got some – ” Dean swung away, hastily scrubbing at the tears pouring down his cheeks. Bobby froze, taking in Dean’s still bruised and battered form as he stood there with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He saw Bobby freeze, his mouth tip slightly open in shock as the gap in the towel revealed the pentacle-shaped brand seared into his hip._

_Bobby gulped guiltily and his gaze darted up to meet Dean’s, taking in the nipple rings still piercing Dean’s chest along the way. He could see Bobby struggle not to ask, not to judge. The old hunter finally managed to spit out, “Dean, I think I found somethin’. Ah, come on down when you’re done here.” Bobby quietly closed the bathroom door so fast Dean thought hellhounds must be on his tail, and maybe they were. Dean rushed to the toilet and heaved, choking on vomit and regret, while tears continued to run unnoticed down his face. Finished, he wiped his mouth and rinsed and spat. His hands came up to not-quite-touch the hated rings. Locked or not, they were coming out today, if he had to cut them off himself._

: : :

Dean hung in the sties, his belly resting on the rounded loop of the wooden brace, his half hard dick, thanks to the swift tug and suck from the sty slave, swinging free beneath him. He was bent over, his arms and neck held in the stocks preventing him from turning to see the next ‘customer’, his ankles chained down to the sties floor, a spreader bar between his knees where he knelt forward into the stocks prevented him from closing them. A layer of fresh straw covered the sty floor, soon to be covered in come and piss and other fluids as the evening progressed, giving the place its name.

Two demons had woken him that morning and dragged him kicking and screaming to the basement sties. He had been thrust in the row between several other humans, though he knew there were otherworldly creatures imprisoned here as well. He’d been hosed off with the others by an indifferent Hedger demon and left to drip dry in the chill of the basement. The room was eerily silent and Dean knew that was with purpose; any slave to speak risked a beating or worse. Dean had seen a demon rip the tongue from one unfortunate's mouth, and eat it right in front of him. Dean shivered in remembrance. 

The sty slave, a young man that couldn’t have been much past sixteen, came past them eventually, to slop down a scoop of oatmeal mash in the trench in front of each of their faces. Never cleaned, the trench held the dried remains of every other batch ladled into it from time immemorial. Dean swallowed it down without a thought. The demons at _Raiser’s Den_ only fed their whores twice a day, and it was eat or starve. Dean’s gag reflex was much lower than it used to be, and moldy crusted pre-licked mash remains at the bottom of the trough were the least of his worries.

As they ate, the youth made a second pass, this time along their back ends, armed with a turkey baster, he paused at each slave to shoot a good load of lube into their various openings. Dean jerked and grimaced when he felt the slave stop with his turn at the greasy invasion. But Dean knew that five customers in, because the sties were all about volume, he’d be grateful. Mornings were usually quiet at Raiser’s, though a few customers were already trolling the sties. Dean decided he’d better sleep while he could, and let his head hang down.

: : :

Bodies strained and undulated around him. He could hear the wet slap of skin on skin, and the moans and groans of abused flesh. If he lifted his chin, he could look into the straining faces of the row of sty whores facing his. The rows of stanchions locked them in place, facing each other across the narrow pathway between the feeding troughs that lined the central lane. Dean tried not to look. He knew the pain and humiliation in the faces across from him were just a mirror image of his own. House demons patrolled the central path, whips ready to dole out encouragement to recalcitrant whores, or discipline to rowdy clients – of which there were many. 

The vampire’s cold dick entered him. Dean’s hands, held immobile in the stocks, clawed at the air. He grunted at the rough entry; he never got used to the chill. He could feel the vamp’s razor sharp nails trailing along his sides and he prayed fervently that the vamp wouldn’t start to slice into him. Last time Dean had had a vamp customer it had taken four healers and a Mesa Demon to put him back together again, his skin in shreds. For once, Dean had been grateful to have a witch on hand, not just because they kept them free of STDs, it was bigger than that. If it weren’t for the rotating crews of healers, _Raiser_ ’s wouldn’t have a whore to sell. It’s clients were very, very hard on the merchandise.

The Vampire leaned down and lay across Dean’s bare back and nibbled at his exposed shoulder. “You humans are so wonderfully warm. It’s practically the only thing I miss about being human.”

Dean could feel the vampire’s teeth start to sink into the meat of his arm, and he braced himself for the sting of feeding when he felt the floor demon stop by his head, it’s huge body casting a shadow over him in the over bright lights of the sty. 

“That’ll cost you extra, sir. And no turning the merchandise, or it’s double their replacement fee,” The floor demon said politely

Dean could feel the vampire retract its teeth and rise up to speak, it’s dick pushing further into Dean as it sat up. Dean grunted.

“I paid my money, this bitch is mine to do with as I want for the ride.”

The floor demon casually gestured to the sign. “No sir, he ain’t. Blood sucking is extra, clearly stated. Now you gonna pay up, or keep your fangs holstered?”

The vampire grudgingly stood up, it’s cold dick sliding out of Dean as it dug in the pockets of his jeans, hanging down off his hips. Dean could feel the zippered edge of the fly digging into the cheeks of his ass.

“Fucking money grabbers. Here.”

“Enjoy your ride, sir; remember one ride per customer, or no more than fifteen minutes. You’re at six already.”

The floor demon strolled off whistling, and Dean almost wanted to grin if he weren’t so tired. The large LED light on the floor below his trough showed the time counting down. It was another of the joys of the sties, clients were required to hit a large red button at the entry to each sty. That kicked off a counter for the whore in question, the floor manager could watch, and you could literally count down the seconds to the end of your encounter with your client, before the next one slapped the button and it started all over again.

The vampire shoved back in ruthlessly and set up a harsh fast pace, finally spilling deep inside Dean, an icy-cold spend deep in his belly. Dean shivered as the vamp yanked out like his dick was being scalded. He felt the vampire fumble around his ass and Dean’s balls curled up at his vulnerability, naked, dick in the breeze, at the mercy of a pissed-off vamp.

He suddenly felt the vamp's hands around his leg and his mouth trailing up his thigh toward his groin. Dean struggled against the spreader bar, desperate to close his legs, but all they did was tremble and he could hear the vampire’s dark chuckle.

"Well if I gotta pay, I’m going for the sweet spot."

Dean felt fangs plunge into the femoral artery high up on his inner leg. Blood begin to pump out of him at an alarming rate, overflowing the vampire’s mouth. He could hear the vampire's high, near hysterical laugh as he swallowed down as much of Dean’s blood as he could. All Dean could think was before he died, he wanted a free hand and a chance to take pliers to the fucker's teeth. Dimly, Dean could hear the alarm bell in his sty go off as his heart rate started to plummet and the floor healer raced to his crib and began to chant.

The floor demon grabbed the vampire and tore him physically from Dean’s leg, and Dean could feel blood running down the back of his knee into the greasy straw, just another fluid.

The healer swore and hit a buzzer calling for additional help, and that was all Dean heard.

: : :

_He and Sammy stood in the open field, heads tilted skyward. Dean had worked overtime for the last three weeks at the local garage to afford food for both of them, and have enough besides to spend on the fireworks lighting up the night sky. It was the fourth of July, and Sam was thirteen years old, Dean remembered. It had been a hard stretch for Sam, and both he and Dean were happy to see the end of the school year._

_John had made them move four times during the course of the year, and it had been a struggle. Sam tall and skinny, just beginning to show signs of the height he would eventually grow into, was then just coltish and awkward in so many ways. The boy had been spending disproportionate amounts of time in the bathroom, or doing the laundry, which Dean teased him mercilessly about. Sam’s social life was a disaster, taking notice of girls – or more specifically one girl – for the first time ever. It had signaled an end to Sam’s childhood. He was growing up fast, and Dean stared at his brother’s earnest face fondly as Sam watched the fireworks ignite._

_In Shallow Bay, Sam had fallen hard and fast for Nora Becket. Even after they’d moved towns – twice – Sam had kept up a regular phone correspondence with Nora, practically living in the phone booth outside their motel, when he wasn’t working every spare minute to keep up his long distance love. When Nora had finally broken it off with Sam they were in Treeford, Michigan and Sam was devastated. His first big crush. Dean had felt guilty about teasing him so badly and had gotten the fireworks as a means of cheering Sam up._

_He ruffled Sam’s soft floppy hair as the last series of explosions lit up the night sky. “Happy Fourth of July, Sammy boy.”_

_Sam, too cool to be treated like a little kid anymore, had shrugged off Dean’s hand, but whispered back, “Happy Fourth of July, Dean.” Dean hugged Sam to his side anyway and Sam had let him. Together they watched as the last flickers of light fell to the ground, and the sky turned black._

: : :

Dean came to hanging from his stocks, limp and weak, but still alive. He could feel something rutting into him. Must have still been selling his ass at a discount while he was out. Most demons wanted their prey wriggling at least a little. He felt a cool slimy grip on to his dick and shivered as several slick appendages wrapped itself around him. Oh, that made sense, Naqua demons liked their prey dead. Dean snorted. Well he was still kicking, at least for now. Maybe it would lose interest.

He felt the water demon’s dick inside him, or was that just another slimy appendage? Mercifully, he’d never seen one up close and personal, so his imagination just blanked. He felt it come though, cold clammy fluid jetting inside him. He felt the grip on his dick suddenly tighten as the multiple appendages squeezed, but far from pleasurable, it was more like being strangled, and Dean came fully awake with a scream.

Dean felt sick as the demon’s spend seemed to wriggle in his channel. Dean wouldn’t put it past it to try and infest him with its parasitic young.

The floor manager seemed to have a similar suspicion, and after the Naqua demon left, he held off the next customer and called the healer over to look Dean over. She began to chant again and Dean waited for the wriggling sensation stop. He fought to hold back his initial reaction to vomit everything he eaten that day all over the healer at the thought that parasitic water demon spawn had been injected into his bowel and had been _movinggrowingwriggling_ in his intestinal tract, if only for minutes. Jesus. And the night was still young. 

Finally, the movement inside his gut stilled, and the witch ran her hand through his sweat covered hair. Dean tried to jerk away, but the witch just laughed, and walked off. The floor demon returned and ordered the sty slave to clean him out with the bag the witch was preparing, they didn’t want to risk another customer’s health on the off chance one the of the parasites might still be wriggling around and bite them. No one seemed too concerned over Dean’s fate.

Dean lay in a stupor as the sty slave reappeared to insert the mercifully lubed enema nozzle up his ass and let the tepid water rush into his bowels, flooding him and filling him to the point of discomfort. The slave plugged him and departed. Dean was left to hang there for the next ten minutes as the solution did its work of eradicating any surviving parasites.

When he returned, the slave simply pulled the plug from Dean’s hole and let the water rush out to pool on the dirty straw between his knees. Dean shuddered, kneeling in his own filth. Dean’s head hung and he trembled with exhaustion, his eyes closed, and this was only his first night. Merle had said he might leave him there for a couple of nights. God, how did anything human survive here at all, he wondered? He would kill for a glass of water right about now. He wondered if it was worth the risk begging the floor demon for one. Dean did value his tongue after all; it had its uses other than sucking cock, all evidence to the contrary at the moment. 

His heart froze when he heard Merle’s voice echoing in the stone stairwell as he made his way down to the basement, louder as it came closer. Merle was obviously talking with someone else, and in the noise of the sties Dean could just make out three sets of footsteps as they neared him. If it had just been Merle alone Dean would have been pleading and begging him already to let him go, but the second set of footsteps stilled his tongue.

“You see Sam, what we have here is a profitable franchise, and like any franchise, it’s up to the managers to keep it that way. You have to mind your Ps and Qs and keep track of the little things before you can make money at the big things. Like having your own personal slave. If it increases productivity, I’m all for that. What keeps you happy keeps you working, and if you’re busy working for RRE, you’re busy being profitable. Go ahead, choose anything you want. If you don’t see what you like we can look into getting it direct. I want my new district manager happy and productive.” This new voice sounded like a sleazy infomercial to Dean, but he bit his lip and listened, Bobby had said big money was backing the Raiser’s Den. Maybe this was the head of the beast itself.

Dean heard Sam murmur in assent.

“Now where’s our boy?” He heard the RRE man ask. 

“Over there. Yes sir, that’s him there,” Merle pointed out obsequiously. Dean listened as Merle rushed over to his side, startling as the demon’s hand began patting his side in a rushed, anxious way. Merle was obviously trying to curry favour. The man must be high up the food chain to get Merle groveling so diligently. “I know it’s hard to tell from the pictures, but this is the whore I had in mind for you, cleaned up of course. Obviously if you wanted exclusivity we could set him aside for your personal use only. He’s being punished right now.”

“Oh a challenge,” the RRE man enthused. “I like that. What do you think Sam, is he your boy? Gotta nice ass, I gotta say. He smells delicious, and I don’t even swing that way.”

“Ah, yes sir,” Merle rushed in to insert himself in the conversation. “The whore’s got a mouth on him though. Just to warn you sir. Maybe it’s a hunter thing. We’re trying to beat it out of him.”

Dean could see a large hand reach for the white board at the end of the sty where his name was written with temporary marker. The long elegant fingers were achingly familiar.

“Really? He’s been so quiet. But rebellion can be buried deep. Can’t it ‘Billy’?”

Dean froze as he felt fingers run possessively along his spine and skim down over the globe of one ass cheek to clench it cruelly in its grasp. Dean inhaled sharply. He thought he was prepared for this, had been actively hunting for his brother for months now, but the shock of hearing Hands’ – no, _Sam’s_ – voice still caught him by surprise. His hands on Dean’s naked body again made him feel vulnerable and small in a way he hadn’t felt for months, and he was almost overwhelmed by the flood of memories Sam’s touch evoked.

_"Whose are you Dean?" Sam’s voice was cool, almost analytical as he slammed his cock punishingly back into Dean’s exhausted body. Dean’s head flung back and cried out in pain at Sam’s rough handling._

_“Yours, Sam. Yours, Sammy,” Dean babbled mindlessly as his hands clenched the bedspread beneath him. His knees trembled where he knelt on all fours and a light sheen of sweat slicked his straining body as Sam continued to pound into him. His master’s large hand clenched down on his shoulder, hauling him back onto Sam’s cock, and he bit his lip in order to hold back another cry of pain. It would be over soon, it had to be over soon, even Sam couldn’t last that long._

_“That’s right slave, and don’t you ever forget it.”_

_Dean shivered as Sam’s words penetrated the haze surrounding him. When Sam finally found his release, Dean let his shoulders slump forward, burying his face, exhausted, into the cheap motel bed cover. His ass still hung in the air where Sam’s cock lay deeply buried and softening. He closed his eyes._

Lost in memory, Dean closed his eyes again and tried to stop the shiver that threatened to run through his body. Hands – Sam, was here at The Raiser’s Den, now. After all his hunting, he’d finally found him, or more correctly, Sam had found Dean.

Dean had thought he was ready; ready for whatever Sam threw at him. Now he wasn’t so sure. And what was Sam doing here, exactly, anyway? Sam might be laboring under a curse, but he was still a hunter. Unless somehow the curse’s effects were even further-reaching, starting to twist Sam’s very soul, and not just his treatment of those he loved best? Dean wondered just how low his brother had fallen.

“Y-you're sure this is the one you want? You seem to know him, so you know what he’s like.” Merle’s voice was more anxious than Dean could ever recall hearing before. Sam must be really far up the totem pole to get this reaction from the demon. “Do you want to see his face to be sure? I can release him from the stocks if you like?”

“No, I’ve seen all I need to, for now. Let him finish out his shift and then clean him up. I want his exclusive use.” Sam patted Dean’s ass and leaned down to whisper in his ear, low enough that only Dean could hear. 

“You’ll be mine again soon enough, Dean. I’ll just give you some time to think about all your sins.” Dean heard Sam’s sharp footsteps as he and the RRE man walked away. “Oh and gag him, I don’t want anyone using that mouth but me.” Dean swallowed. Dean had Sam where he wanted him. Right… Now he just had to survive the cure.

“There, now that’s what I like in my people: decisiveness and a take-charge attitude. It keeps us all one big happy family Sam, and that’s what we want here – our family happy. Together and happy.”

: : :

 


	2. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

Dean was dumped down hard onto the hard concrete floor of the bathing area. Barely conscious at the end of his shift, he grunted in pain as his shoulder took the brunt of the fall. The Gyler demon had carried him from the sties over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Now he casually ordered, “Clean this one up good will ya, Talia? The new boss has pissed on him for now, and he wants to keep him as his own private stock. Wouldn’t do to make a bad impression on him with a shoddy cleaning job. Just sayin’.” 

The bath mistress, an old water demon, nodded and stared at Dean thoughtfully while the Gyler strolled to one the side of the room. He snapped up an old Playboy and sat down in one of the folding chairs to wait.

“Hmmm. You want good impression or great impression? How much time do I have?”

“I wouldn’t push it past an hour.” The Gyler replied turning the centerfold sideways with a dirty chuckle, then growled as he ogled the magazine. Dean wondered if there were any Demon versions of Playboy. Fire demons astride black dogs, Gyler demons licking at hell hounds' muzzles with dark hungry looks in their eyes. Dean shivered and tried to raise his prone body up by his arms.

“I can work with that,” the old demon said, dragging Dean by the collar toward the sunken tub to the side of the room.

Dean squawked in a most undignified way as he was dragged over to the empty tub.

“Well at least it’s naked. Saves me some time.” The demon tutted peevishly.

Exhausted and only wanting to sleep Dean huddled at the bottom of the tub, and the demon turned on the water, showering him in an icy cold stream. Dean yelped and tried to cover as much bare skin with his hands as he could. The water was friggin' frigid.

“Oh these humans, so thin skinned,” Talia complained, and turned the knob to warm the water to the somewhat-less-than-icicle factory setting. She glided into the tub on eight legs. Tentacles. Whatever, Dean closed his eyes before he did something silly like run for his life. He couldn’t prevent the tremors that ran through him, though, as the tentacles started to glide over his skin, rubbing soapy cloths across his body. He watched, still dazed and weak, as the blood and fluids accumulated during the evening sluiced down the drain in a foggy red-stained stream.

A steel-strong appendage wrapped itself around his waist and he was suddenly upended, face pressed to the bottom of the tub, as several long tentacles took a personal interest in his cleanliness.

Dean’s hands flailed about him, and he grabbed for the sides of the tub to prevent himself from striking out at the demon as a tentacle entered him and wriggled around. He heard her chuckle above him, and another set of tentacles grabbed his wrists and held them firmly against the floor of the tub. “Now, now baby, need you clean inside and out.” 

Face shoved against the ceramic, Dean bit back a snotty reply as the questing tentacle withdrew and a nozzle was pressed up against his anus. He didn’t think they were interesting in hearing this was his second enema of the day – or was this technically tomorrow now? Sighing, he closed his eyes, surprised to find that after all he had been through, he could still blush. Warm water filled him steadily and the pressure grew. The Demon stroked his back, murmuring comments about his multitude of freckles and other nonsense phrases. Dean found it strangely comforting as he squirmed. 

When Dean was just beginning to think he might possibly spring a leak, or even explode, the water was finally shut off. The enema nozzle was withdrawn and Dean had to bite back a moan as a plug quickly took its place, holding the fluid in.

“Now we just wait a bit and then you’ll be all clean.” The demon, Talia, assured him. Dean struggled not to writhe against the multi-suctioned hold.

Time moved slowly, and uncomfortable as he was, the warm water inside him had almost lulled Dean to sleep when the demon suddenly announced, “Okay, time to empty you out, baby.” The plug was unceremoniously pulled from Dean’s body and Dean groaned in a mixture of relief and humiliation. The demon let him sit up just in time to avoid the flow of waste that rushed out of him and down the drain. Dean’s face twisted in distaste. What was wrong with just washing, he wondered as she sprayed him down, cleaning away the last traces of waste.

He was turned, lifted and, rolled over onto some protuberance between the tentacles that sort of resembled, and apparently served the same purpose as a lap, as she perched on the side of the large tub. One of her tentacles returned to probe deeper into his sore and abraded opening, reaching up until it was rubbing determinedly over his prostate, her limbs rocking against him in a soothing motion. Somehow the water demon’s touch reminded him not at all of the Naqua demon.

As the warm rubbery flesh undulated inside him he heard himself gasp in pain and then pleasure and a fine shiver traveled through his aching body. Dean couldn’t hold back the moan as the rocking sensation built. In spite of the pain in his abused ass, the water demon was brushing over just the right spot and his sore and sensitive dick struggled on it’s own to rise.

“Mnnn yeah, we should milk you, puppy. Make sure you’re not too overanxious for you new master.” The tentacle in his ass withdrew, and he heard the soft snick of a tube. Its puckered length returned eased by a generous helping of lube and Dean actually sighed in relief. 

The demon laughed and he could hear the smile in her voice. “That better, baby? Long shift, right, Talia should have remembered. Gonna make you feel so good, get you all cleaned up and ready for the head man.” The tentacle started to plunge smoothly in and out of him, the motion gentle as the little suction cups glided over his prostate, occasionally stopping to suck down on top of it.

Dean arched back, barely able to move in the water demon’s hold, his shaft plumping eagerly where he lay folded across her lap. Dean whined and humped back against the flesh filling him, trying to reach for completion, his dick dragging occasionally against one of the demon’s many limbs. The slow, careful motions were almost not enough after the brutality of the sties. It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten off in the sties. The demons there never bothered with cock rings. As long as his hole was open and operational, the demons didn’t care if he came or not. But this… the water demon certainly knew what she was doing. Maybe she fucked her prey to death before she ate it, water demons being notorious scavengers that survived on the dead, after all.

Stuffed with tentacle and whining for more, Dean couldn’t quite believe he was willingly humping back on to the demon’s flesh, the soft squelch of lube accompanying his needy moans. Unexpectedly, a tentacle wrapped itself around his straining shaft and started to strip him. Dean’s breath hitched; that extra touch was all he needed to tip him over the edge. He arched back with a soft cry, spattering his chest with his spend. 

“There, isn’t that better? Your master will be so much happier with a puppy that can concentrate on his pleasure,” the water demon cooed as she wiped his sweaty face and shoulders and cleaned his come-covered chest. She pushed a water bottle between his chapped and bitten lips. Dean drank down the cool fresh liquid; it had been a long time since he’d had a drink. She tipped the bottle up higher, forcing his neck to arch back in order to finish the last few swallows. When his weary, endorphin overloaded mind finally caught up again he realized too late that the water had a faint metallic tinge. 

His eyes snapped open but he could already feel a vague, fuzzy feeling coming over him. He tossed his head in rebellion, but the demon just rubbed his back comfortingly. The tentacles holding his wrists to the sides of his body now pulled his arms gently behind him, forcing Dean up to sit forward on her lap. Dean whined softly in confusion as the demon snapped leather wrist cuffs on him and clipped his wrists together behind him. 

“He’s all yours now, hon.” The water demon announced and Dean felt himself bodily lifted from the demon’s lap to stand unsteadily on his own two feet. The room turned slowly around him as Talia snapped a leash on his collar. She passed it to the waiting Gyler, who pulled him unceremoniously from the room. Stumbling, Dean glanced back to see the Water Demon wink at him as he was led away. “Bye, bye, Freckles. Hope I get to see you again soon.” 

Dean shivered, unsure whether it was in dread or anticipation.

: : :

He was taken up in a luxuriously appointed private elevator, which he had never known existed before. The demon keyed in access to the penthouse floor with a special gold pass card. Dean tried to note where the demon stowed the card, but it was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate. The demon shoved him down onto his knees as they entered the elevator, limiting his view. Dean was too exhausted at that point to try and sneak a peek.

“That’s where you belong anytime we aren’t moving. Don’t let me have to remind you again. Especially don’t let your new master have to remind you. So far, he hasn’t developed much of a reputation as a patient and benevolent man.” 

Dean kept his head bowed. He was well aware of Hands' peccadillos and methods of handling his slave. Dean was glad there wasn't much in his belly as he felt it twist in nervousness, this would be the first time he’d seen Sam in person in more than a year. He wondered if he was okay, if he had kept safe all that time.

When the elevator stopped, the Gyler led him down a richly appointed hallway. The hall seemed over-bright to Dean’s drugged eyes, and he squinted against the gold sheen. When he briefly closed his eyes he became distracted by the luxuriously sensuous feeling of his bare feet sinking into the rich pile of the carpet. He deliberately slid his feet as they moved along the hall, savoring the soft sensation. Several doors opened off the hall, but they continued down the length of the building to the end. This must be where _The Raiser’s_ exclusive clientele were brought. No wonder Dean had never seen it before; he’d been strictly designated to service the cash and carry demon crowd since his arrival. He had to bite back the bark of laughter that threatened… what had been in that water?

The demon rapped twice on the large gold double doors and waited. Dean couldn’t hear anything, but the demon suddenly nodded and opened the door, hauling Dean in behind him.

“Sir, I’ve brought the slave as requested. Where would you like it?”

Dean stood there frozen as his gaze took in his brother’s familiar form. After a year’s time, Sam looked older somehow, harder. He was sitting behind a desk, a monolithic slab of some deep, rich wood that seemed to hover above the ground, it’s only visible support one vertical section rising up out of the floor at one end, like a joint in an outstretched wing. Two monitors partially blocked the view of his brother as he sat pre-occupied with his screens. Sam shoved his overlong hair back impatiently from his eyes. If Dean squinted, this could be the Sammy of old researching over his laptop in one of the many broken down motel rooms they’d stayed in over the years, until you looked closer. Until you noticed the Armani suit and the three hundred dollar tie, and the artfully shaggy haircut that probably cost more that all the clothes Dean ever owned put together.

“Hmm, put him over there.” Hands… Sam gestured vaguely to the far side of the room and Dean swallowed when he took in the familiar shape of a large dog cage barely noticeable at first glance, up against one wall, in a darkened corner of the room. He felt a whine build in the back of his throat, and he tried to bite it back. His control over his emotions seemed fuzzy at best, now. It had to be the water, right? He couldn’t be afraid of this. He knew what was coming, all of it. But he couldn’t stop himself as he deliberately hung back from the tug at his leash, panic welling up inside him and tears pricking in the corner of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, Sam really was ready for him, cage and all.

The Gyler yanked brutally on the leather and started to haul Dean over to the corner and swung open the cage door. The cage was incongruous and brutal amid the sleek modern lines of the rest of the furniture. Dean could see the black tarp folded neatly on top of the cage that would seal him in, and he shuddered helplessly.

Images of his time spent in his old cage flashing before him. Hours left alone rigged up in a catheter and bag, with a water bottle hanging inside the cage while Hands and Fists were out on a hunt. Or the hours spent shivering cold in the back of Fist’s truck, the cage under an old black tarp, while the two men sat warm and comfortable, having a meal at a local diner. The press of the ice cold bars against his flesh as he was jostled against them as they spent hours on the road heading to their next hunt; never warm enough, or full enough, always in pain from his latest beating. Dean felt his breathing quicken and a few soft whimpers escaped as he tried to brace himself against a full on panic attack as the reality of being back in Hand’s, Sam’s, possession sank in. What if his plan didn’t work? He didn’t think he could survive as Sam’s toy a second time.

“Wait, what’s wrong with him? Bring him over here, I changed my mind. Here, the ring on the desk.” Sam’s voice was sharp and impatient. Dean couldn’t hear any tapping at the keyboard, he was under the full focus of his brother’s attention.

Dean had thought he would be inured to anything Sam could throw at him, do to him by now, but apparently not, as he found himself shaking uncontrollably. Without ceremony the Gyler pushed Dean down so he fell heavily to his knees beside Sam’s legs. The demon chained his leash to a discreet bolt inset into the edge of the desk and turned to ask, “Will there be anything else this evening, sir?” 

Ignoring the demon, Sam leaned forward and grabbed Dean’s chin; he had been keeping his gaze pinned resolutely to the floor. His brother’s hand was strangely gentle as he tilted Dean’s face up to meet his. With the effects of the drugs, Dean was having trouble adjusting his focus in order to see Sam clearly, but he heard the faint intake of shocked breath as Sam looked at him.

“He’s been drugged.” Sam’s hand left Dean’s and the fury in Sam’s voice had Dean hunching as low as the chain on his neck would allow, cowering back into the desk as far away from his brother as he could get. His chained hands twisted helplessly behind him and he heard a faint whimper escape his throat. 

“Who ordered this?” Dean shrank back further at the threat in Sam’s voice.

The demon must have stepped back as well, because his voice seemed further away when he answered. “It was our bath mistress Talia, sir.” The Gyler rushed to answer, throwing his work mate under the bus with no hesitation or remorse. “It’s common practice when a slave is delivered to any of our higher-end clientele or admin to give them a little taste of the house product. Keeps them quiet and submissive and encourages the libido.”

“How long will it last?” Even floating in the muffling protection of his drugged haze, Dean felt himself tighten in fear as Sam’s voice bit out the question. The Gyler seemed to pick up on it as well and stammered out raggedly, “One, two days tops, sir.”

Sam’s feet strode out of Dean’s view and he heard a garbled choking sound. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. What is mine. You read me?” Dean heard the sound of the Gyler stumbling back gasping for breath. “And tell the bath mistress the same. I never want any slave of mine tampered with. And I’ll be investigating the ‘House Policy’ as well. Sounds like our clients should be consulted first before we assume we know what they desire. Waste of house product too. Now get out.”

Dean could almost imagine Sam straightening his tie, smoothing the expensive fabric back as the Gyler staggered to the door.

Dean blinked rapidly and looked around, his hazy eyesight clearing momentarily. He took the opportunity to glance furtively around the room. It wasn’t what he expected from one of the most infamous Demon whorehouses he’d ever heard of. It was tasteful, even elegant, and Dean wondered if Sam had had a hand in decorating it. It was a large room, dominated by the massive desk and sleek twin chairs positioned in front of it. To one side there was a wide sofa, two comfortable armchairs, and a small bar along one wall. Blurrily, Dean could see several doors leading off the main room. It was a balanced blend of ‘entertaining’ and business spaces. He wondered what kind of entertaining amused Sam these days. He shivered slightly, wanting to blame the air conditioning in the room that caused his still slightly damp skin to pebble, but he knew better. Death by frostbite, now there was a way to go. Dean felt the smirk on his face, then quickly wiped it off. You never knew how Sam might react to seeing him smile.

He looked up suddenly when he realized the room had gone silent. The click of the door as the Gyler demon exited sounded overly loud in the room. Dean’s quick glance brought him eye to eye with Sam, who was standing over him again, watching him. Dean swallowed heavily, fear trickling down his spine at the thought of finally being alone again with his brother. 

The light behind Sam cast deep shadows over his eyes and the jut of his cheekbones. Even though Sam’s eyes were hooded, Dean felt himself the center of Sam’s unswerving attention as he stared menacingly down at Dean out of the darkness. He could hear his brother’s faint hum of satisfaction as he observed him.

Dean tried not to squirm knowing how mad that made Sam, but failed miserably, unsure if he should look back down now or continue to hold his brother’s gaze. He tried to wriggle further back under the protective slab of the desk’s wing and had to force himself to stop moving. Sam didn’t like it when he tried to escape. It made the hunter in him pounce all that much harder on his fleeing prey. 

Dean felt so defenseless, his emotions strangely raw; the drugs robbing him of his normal armor, making the step to becoming ‘that Dean’ again almost easier. When they had planned this at Bobby's, Dean had wondered how he would fold himself back into that other man, submit again so readily to his brother’s will. He shuddered in dread and silently thanked Talia for her unintended results.

“This is not how I wanted you your first time back with me, Dean. You know that right? Drugs are the device of fools and cowards, and I’m neither. You’re not even the real Dean right now. When we talk, I want you aware and there for me, baby, not hiding behind a fog of drugs. I wonder…” Like the large sleek predator he was Sam paced back to the desk and sat down in his chair, knees spread wide, his large hands hanging cradled between them as he continued to analyze Dean’s countenance. Dean shivered, breaking contact first as he let his gaze fall to the floor.

Sam’s hand reached out, and he ran his fingers through Dean’s shaggy hair and Dean flinched. Sam paused for a moment but didn’t comment on Dean’s reaction. Dean hadn’t been allowed to cut his hair since his capture, and it was longer than Dean liked. Sam continued in his musings as his fingers wrapped around the hinge of Dean’s jaw and forced him to look up. “Have you forgotten what you are Dean? Where you belong? Has your little stint at the garage led you to believe you’re something different than you really are?” Sam released him and leaned back, elbows on the arms of his chair, the fingers of one hand resting thoughtfully on his chin.

Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice. He wasn’t sure what emotions might be showing on his face right now, so he let his head loll down and looked back at the floor. The room swam dizzily around him, and he listed to one side, faint. 

Sam reached out, striking swiftly like a snake. “Because, little brother, it won’t take long at all to rebreak you to my hand. You think escaping me once makes you a hunter again? Look how easily you fell into my hands, and I wasn’t even looking for you.” Sam’s laugh was cruel and cutting, and Dean shivered under his tightening grip. 

“I could have picked you up any time I wanted. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but you can’t help what you are. It’s why you were better off as our toy: no responsibilities, no duties. You’re just not equipped to function in the real world, baby. Haven’t we proven that to you? You can’t cope with it. In fact, if it weren’t for your friend’s interference you’d have been back in my care long ago. If I hadn’t been so busy setting up this job, I’d have come to get you myself, but it was only a matter of time till I had you back. You know that right?”

Sam’s hand moved, forcing Dean to look directly at Sam. He rubbed his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip. Dean swallowed and tried to hold perfectly still, but the room was still turning around him.

“Now, Dad’s death. I know that wasn’t on you was it, baby? If it was, I’d kill you right now where you kneel. As it is, I’ll have to hunt your friend Chris down and kill him after this job is over. Maybe I’ll make you watch. Would you like that Dean? Or no, maybe I’ll leave you in your cage and just let you listen to his screams for mercy.”

Dean couldn’t help himself as his gaze slid furtively toward the cage in the corner.

“Oh that there, yes that’s just for you Dean. We’ll get you back in the right mind space in no time. It’ll be like old times, like this last year never happened. Don’t look so sad, brother. It’ll be alright.” Sam reached forward and brushed the tears Dean didn’t realize he was crying off his face. 

“Now, since the bath mistress has kind of ruined the plans I had for you, I’ve still got some work I can get done tonight. I imagine you’re tired, but I want you back in the traces, baby, doing what you do best. We’ll talk more about Dad and your punishment for running away in the morning.” 

Sam’s hand grabbed onto Dean’s collar, and he manhandled Dean backward under the desk. Dean couldn’t help the sob that left his lips as he realized what Sam wanted, what he had meant.

Once Dean was tucked, kneeling, under the sleek black wood surface between Sam’s feet, his brother slowly slid the zipper open on his dress pants and eased his half hard cock out.

With his other hand he tugged on the chain attached to Dean’s collar, pulling Dean’s head into the vee of his legs in line with his weeping dick.

“Now open wide, baby, you know you want it. Calms you down, always has.”

Dean tried to pull back and Sam’s hand tightened on the leash. “Now don’t make me angry, Dean. I can bring out the ring gag, but we both know how this is going to end, so open your fucking mouth before I lose patience with you.”

Dean's chained hands clenched uselessly in anger, any plans forgotten as the reality of being in Sam’s possession began to truly sink in and the room continued to twist dizzily. He slammed his eyes closed, unable to watch as his brother guided his dick into Dean’s unprotesting mouth. He moaned around the plumping flesh and swallowed his brother’s length down, gagging slightly when Sam nudged the back of his throat. He felt tears at the corners of his eyes and squeezed his them closed tighter to prevent more from falling.

Sam brushed Dean’s hair away from his eyes and his hand slipped down to massage Dean’s throat as he cooed over his efforts.

“Did you forget how to do it, baby? How big I am? You didn’t do this for any of your new friends? Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you in no time. Practice makes perfect, they say. Now suck Daddy down and keep me nice and warm while I work.”

Dean swallowed reflexively, and the flesh nudged deeper into his throat. Sam’s hand on his head patted absently a few more times before his hand withdrew. Dean was left under the shadow of the black desk wing at his brother’s feet with Sam’s half hard dick in his mouth. His ass was pointed toward the door, visible to any one that entered and the cool chill of the air conditioning swirling around him made him shiver. The only heat source was his brother’s body, and he had no choice but to huddle up close as he suckled his brother’s organ, keeping it warm and only marginally aroused as he worked. Sam liked to be kept warm, he liked the edge, and would have Dean suckle him for hours. But Dean was to go no farther than that unless ordered. As the faint tap, tap, tapping of Sam at his keyboard resumed and the world continued to lurch sickeningly around him, he realized it was as if he’d never left.

: : :

That first night Sam didn’t make Dean sleep in the cage, rather he had dragged him to his bed and fucked him into the mattress, Sam pulled out at the last moment to come all over Dean’s back with a sharp laugh. Sam had kicked Dean to the floor at the foot of the bed and Dean had laid there huddled, curled in a tight ball against the too cool air conditioning. Chained at the foot of Sam’s bed on the hard floor, the drugs still swirled through his system, and Dean should have nodded off immediately. Instead he lay there in a state of semi-shock. Finally, he drifted off.

: : :

>

_The sun was shining brightly and they were on a picnic. The red checkered blanket spread across the dubious green of the neglected grass behind the garage. Both of them lay stretched out, full and sated from their meal. Anna rolled over onto her side and raised up on one arm, her hand traveled aimlessly over his chest. Dean used his hands to prop up his head and smiled up at her._

_“So, you come here often?”_

_Dean smirked at the question but gamely joined in, “Well I hear they have the best pie here in seven counties.”_

_“Eight,” Anna corrected knowingly, her hand circling the fabric over Dean’s nipple._

_“Dean could feel his nipple hardening and grabbed up Anna’s hand to suckle on one of her finger tips._

_“Mmm sweet and tangy, just the way I like it.”_

_“The pie or the waitresses there?”_

_“Either, both.” Dean laughed at Anna’s put-out expression._

_“Sir, you mistake me.” Anna moved to rise, and laughing, Dean reached out to grab her wrist, sitting up to catch her. He pulled her down in his lap in squealing heap and his lips finding hers, sunwarm and sweet, he licked over them. On half a laugh and a sigh Anna gasped, opening her mouth and Dean’s tongue swept in to sample her sweet depths._

_“Nah-ah, none of that now.” Anna’s voice shifted as she rose suddenly to flee._  

Dean reached out, a faltering smile on his face as he said, “No…” and reached for her, but Anna’s form was changing, growing darker and larger till it loomed over him. Her face slid into shadows and shifted, growing darker until suddenly it was changing into Sam’s. Dean felt a stab of pain in his groin and looked down, Sam was pressing an icepack to his cock and had a cock cage in his hand.

Dean blinked and looked up in shock, still confused that Anna was gone, and let out a pained cry at the touch of cold hard plastic as Sam started to wrestle the cock cage onto him. “Have to make you at home, brother. Welcome home,” Sam laughed.

: : :

Dean almost preferred the violence of the old days of Hands and Fists. This new Sam seemed more interested in getting inside Dean’s head, messing with him, than Hands had ever been. Sam wasn’t satisfied to just fuck and torture Dean anymore. It seemed in the year since Dean had been out of Sam’s clutches, his brother had honed his technique. Now Sam wanted to get him to do what he wanted more with coercion than with force, he wanted Dean to enjoy it, to want it even.Not all the time of course, sometimes he just wanted to fuck him hard and hurt him; leave him moaning in pain locked in his cage. More often than not though, after Sam had gotten what he wanted, taken all he could from Dean, his hand would snake out and grip Dean’s cock with something almost approaching tenderness, or love, and jack him to completion. It messed with Dean’s head, and more than once he’d sobbed out Sam’s name in thanks as he arched back against the hand holding his cock and the pleasure pain of coming on command.

New Sam scared him.

New Sam was also as good as his word. In no time flat, Dean was reminded of all his training and was well on his way to being Sammy’s good little fuck toy all over again.

: : :

Dean had awoken that morning curled in a tight ball at the bottom of the bare metal grillwork of the dog cage, the slats digging painfully into the bare flesh of his side. He didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten there, but his throat was raw and fucked out and he would have killed for something to drink. 

He remembered kneeling under Sam’s desk for hours. The wide open concept furniture meant every visitor, and Sam had had several, made a comment about Dean’s pretty white ass. Dean grew so weary, he nodded off at one point and awoke choking on Sam’s dick, rushing to keep his teeth covered before he scraped his brother’s length, still held safely in his mouth. Sam had dragged him out from under his desk and beaten him raw with a whip he’d pulled from a drawer. The thongs of the flogger had fallen mercilessly until Dean had screamed, and sobbed brokenly, begging for Sam's, his Master’s, forgiveness. Darkness had flickered at the edges of his vision, and he huddled in on himself to avoid the worst of Sam’s blows. It had gone on for a long time.

Dean didn’t think the flogger would leave any permanent marks but he was sore and bruised and hurting all over. The edges of his vision were going black by the time Sam thought he had enough and shoved him in under the desk to go back to work. Hours, but feeling like days later, Sam had finally finished up and pulled his chair out from the desk, his cock slipping from Dean’s lips at the abrupt movement. 

Dean had whined in panic, his neck arching forward to follow as he tried to hang on to his brother as the hot flesh slipped from his numb lips. He scrambled forward out from under the table in fear, worried that Sam would think he was neglecting his duty. Sam only chuckled and tugged on Dean’s leash, forcing him to shuffle forward on his throbbing knees. He worked his jaw trying to stretch the sore and aching muscles of his mouth. He licked his dry and chapped lips and snuck a leery look up at his brother.

Sam’s hand reached out to hold Dean’s chin, and Dean’s head lolled back in exhaustion as he blearily observed Sam.

“Hmmm. Got you right back where you belong now, Dean. On your knees at my feet and it only took a few weeks for you to get with the program.” Sam held a water bottle to Dean’s lips, and Dean gulped the cool liquid down thankfully. When the bottle was half empty, Sam tugged it from his mouth and Dean bit back a low whine; he was still so thirsty. “Hmmm, so work's finally done; it’s time for some real fun. What should we do?” Sam reached out to tug at Dean’s nipples playfully, glancing down at his cock. “Oh, I see someone’s been a bad boy.” Dean startled a little at the aggrieved tone of Sam’s voice and ran through all the possible transgressions he might be guilty of, but came up with nothing. He swallowed and looked up at Sam a puzzled expression on his face. 

Sam tugged on the other nipple and ‘tisked’, “Someone took all their piercings out. We’ll have to fix that. I hear it hurts like a bitch to reinsert them, the scar tissue and all, especially the PA. I’ll just make a note to schedule that. Can’t wait to see you scream for me again, baby.” Sam leaned forward, tapping in a reminder on his keyboard. Dean groaned. Sam swung round in his chair to where Dean weaved on his knees. “So, right now before we go in the playroom, let’s start with something simple: Blow me, baby boy.”

Dean wanted to growl, he wasn’t the baby brother, Sam the fuck was, but he had no energy for rebellion. He nodded wearily and leaned forward unquestioningly to take his brother back into his mouth. Sam hummed in approval. Dean badly wanted to deny the spike of pleasure Sam’s approval sent through his body, but he was busy concentrating on slurping his brother’s length back down. Sam’s foot reached casually between Dean’s legs and his shoe toed at his unpierced cock, raising the fattening organ up on the shiny patent leather for Sam’s inspection.

“Hmm, and I see you like it here too, Dean.” Sam’s shoe ran along the line of Dean’s cock, and Dean’s stomach twisted in disgust while his dick thickened in approval. It really hadn’t taken Sam long at all, Dean realized sadly, and Sam was just getting started.

 

From the light flooding in from the wide set of floor length windows, it was morning, and Dean had awakened sore and dry and hurting in his cage from Sam’s ‘fun’ the night before. Dean shivered in remembrance of the toys Sam’s playroom had contained. Sam had certainly expanded his range of amusements since Dean was last with him. He pushed himself up on his arms to look around and tried to lick his dry and cracked lips. He was still having trouble focusing, but he could make out the long cylindrical water tube hanging inside the cage. 

Dean moaned softly at the sight and rose up onto his knees, the top of his head nearly touching the top of the cage. He crawled forward toward the water, realizing Sam had shoved him in the cage for the night with his hands chained more comfortably in front of him, separated by a few links. He rolled his head and twisted his shoulders, biting back the sigh of pleasure at being able to stretch. He dipped his head down to the cylinder and blushed, not for the first time, at the fact that the water dispenser was deliberately shaped like a penis. He would have to suck and nuzzle at the dispenser to get the liquid to release. Too late in the game for shame and too thirsty to care, he hunched down to suck the sweat-beaded cylinder down.

He had just drunk his fill, nudging at the device to keep the water flow moving when he heard a sound in the suite and looked around. The penis-shaped water bottle slipped from between his lips as he knelt up.

He heard Sam groan as his brother approached the cage. “Looks good on you, Dean, that rubber cock buried between your lips. Gonna have to gag you with one in the future just for the pretty picture you’d make. Out, boy.” Sam ordered. “We need to get you all suited up.”

Dean crawled slowly from the cage, rolling his shoulders again to loosen them up some more and cracking his neck from the confinement. He contemplated standing, but figured it was too early in the morning to piss his brother off just yet. Maybe he’d wait till he’d had his coffee first. And maybe hell would freeze over.

He licked the last of the water off his lips and felt eyes on him. He looked up self consciously and saw Sam’s gaze riveted on his water shiny mouth. ‘Fuck’ that was so not how he wanted to start the day.

Sam quickly attached a leash to the center link between Dean’s hand manacles. He stepped on the end of the leash effectively pinning Dean’s hands to the floor as he reached behind him. Tucked into the waistband of his dress slacks, Sam pulled out a slender metallic green collar.

“Now, you know you’ve been working hard over the last few weeks trying to get back to your old level of obedience, and I’m happy to say you’ve finally earned this. I’m happy for you Dean. Proud to have a sign of my ownership on you now, and the truth is in a house like this, I can’t have you wandering around unclaimed. Never know what might happen, I need to protect you, show them whose property you are. Besides, you’ve made me so proud.” 

Dean licked his lips and looked up into his brother’s remorseless eyes.

He couldn’t help himself from pleading, “Don't do this Sammy, please, I’m your brother, man. Don’t…”

Sam laughed out loud and, looking down at Dean, said, “Hush. You don’t want to lose this honor by opening your mouth just when you’ve gained the brass ring now do you? Now chin up, Dean, you know green always was your colour.”

Sam’s hand snaked out, and before Dean could do more than breathe, the old worn leather collar was unlocked and fell away and the new steel collar was closing around his neck with a quiet ‘snick’. Dean sucked in a ragged breath, and his Adam’s apple caught on the metal edge of the collar. Sam fingers held onto the softly lined collar and he pushed a finger between the metal and vulnerable flesh of Dean’s neck. “16 ½” just like I remembered. Fits you perfectly, baby. Now to do something about that mouth of yours.” 

Sam prowled over to the other side of the room and opened a large cabinet containing a scary variety of toys. Dean couldn’t help but let his chin sink to his chest. His head falling, much like his hopes that the death of his father had signaled the end to the curse. He had hoped beyond reason that when he found Sam, his brother would be cured, that he was only at the Den because he was working some kind of job, deep, deep under cover. But as time went by, Dean knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was no act, that Sam hadn’t been miraculously cured. Winchester luck just wasn’t that good. He looked up as Sam laughed happily, pulled a penis gag from the shelf, and turned to walk toward Dean. Dean shivered as he remembered just what Sam was capable of. He wondered if he could survive this a second time.

“Now I think this morning I’d like you to be my footstool.” Sam’s smile was malicious as he pulled a neatly coiled bundle of red nylon rope from another drawer and Dean shivered.

: : :

 


	3. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

Sam snapped his fingers and Dean crawled quickly from his dog pillow beside Sam’s desk to where his brother sat, in the lounge area. He nuzzled Sam’s hand, keeping silent as Sam preferred, and gently licked his master’s fingertips. He looked up enquiringly; Sam had told him there would be a group of clients coming in soon for a meeting. He shuddered in dread. Sam leaned down and ruffled his hair. “So Dean, footstool or table?” 

Sam had started playing this game, of making Dean choose his own humiliation: maid, with a tiny skirt covering his cock as he cleaned around the apartment, his ass bare to the world, or butler, with a coat and tails and nothing else, his cock standing upright and hard. All of Sam’s games ended badly, Dean had found.

Dean licked his lips and said, “Table.”

By the time Sam’s clients were lounging around the seating area, the red nylon rope had transformed Dean into his brother’s table: kneeling on all fours, his legs bound together with miles of red rope, his forearms and hands bound to his upper arms, and the weight of his torso balanced on the points of his elbows. With his limbs bound tightly under him, it was up to Dean to keep his back flat and straight for Sam’s cold drink.

Sam reached down and ran his hand soothingly through Dean’s now short hair. He had been a table for a while now, and his limbs were starting to spasm. Sam’s business associates had been arguing about quantities and quotas and shipment levels for several hours. Dean knelt there zoning out for much of it, but he took some small comfort in Sam’s touch.

As the meeting ground along one of the vampires across from Sam asked, “That your own private stock, or can we all have a taste?” 

Sam’s hand tightened perceptively in Dean’s hair where he’d been carding his fingers through it. 

“He’s private stock, but I’ll have him blow you if you’d like, just no sampling. I don’t want him marked. He’s mine.”

“Well, I’ll take you up on your offer if you don’t mind. Just the smell of him alone...”

Sam tugged on one line of red rope, and Dean’s bonds fell away like magic. Sam lifted his drink obligingly, allowing Dean to sag to the floor. After he had stretched the pins and needles out of his arms, Dean knelt up and looked at his master. Seeing him sitting up, the Vampire whistled appreciatively as he got his first look at Dean’s face. “Wow, the idea of lips like those wrapped around my dick is hard to refuse. An offer like that don’t come along every day, he’s a real beauty.”

“Yes, I think so too. Go look after the man, Dean.” Sam’s voice was steel hard, and Dean resisted the urge to whimper. Even though this time around as Sam’s slave, things were much better than they used to be, Sam still liked to hurt him sometimes, especially when he had an excuse – and losing face in front of these businessmen would certainly qualify him for that. Dean crawled between the legs of the closest vampire, pulling his zipper down carefully and pulling out his pale cold cock. Without a recent blood donation, vamps were notoriously difficult to get off, and Dean was in for some hard labor, bringing all four of them off in sequence. He tried to suppress the shudder of disgust as his lips touched the cold flesh, the vampire's hand was in his hair, sharp nails drawing pinpricks of blood from Dean’s neck. He felt the vampire’s cock twitch in arousal as the smell of Dean’s blood reached his nose. Bastards. If Dean ever got free he would cheerfully stake the whole sadistic race of them. 

By the time Dean had serviced all four of Sam’s associates, his jaw was tired and aching, and he was covered in stripes of cold come and his own slobber. Sam ordered him to his side, and Dean sank down gratefully on his knees beside his master. 

As if nothing had happened, Sam thrust a bottle in Dean’s mouth, allowing him to drink his fill, wiping his face off with his handkerchief, and dropping in in the wastebasket with a mild expression of distaste before allowing Dean to settle by his side. After the chill bodies of the vampires, Dean couldn’t resist leaning into his brother’s warmth and burrowing against his outstretched leg. Sam’s hand returned to carding through Dean’s hair as if nothing had happened, and the meeting went on. As discussions continued, the Raiser staff brought in a light lunch. Dean’s stomach gurgled at the smell. He looked longingly over at his yet-untouched mash, but Sam tugged on his leash and tilted his head up. Dean looked up into those prismatic eyes, and Sam used a dampened napkin to clean some of the remaining mess off his face.

“You’ve been such a good boy, Dean, you’re in for a special treat.” Dean swallowed, his brows furrowed in worry. In the past, that had meant a second round and a heaping bellyfull of come. Dean swallowed; Sam had at least let him drink first. 

Sam tugged on his collar, and he knelt up between Sam’s legs. Automatically Dean reached for Sam’s zipper, but Sam swatted his hands away. Dean dropped his head in humiliation; he’d have to use his teeth. He shoved down the shredded remains of his pride, and reached with his teeth towards Sam’s fly. But his chin was caught up by Sam’s hand, gently directing it upward before he got closer and Sam was nudging something into his mouth. Dean’s mouth opened obediently and then his eyes flew open in shock. He chewed the savory morsel staring up wide-eyed at his Master. 

Sam smiled, dimples appearing on his cheeks, so at odds with the ruthless business leader working the room. The bite-sized piece of Philly cheese sandwich melted in his mouth, and Dean leaned back on his heels to savor the treat, humming in pleasure. Dean was still chewing, hoping to make the taste last, when Sam nudged another bite into his mouth. Dean’s eyes flew open; he hadn’t realized they had fallen closed as he chewed. This time he tasted piping hot crispy fries with just the right amount of salt, the way Dean liked. Dean finished his second treat, prepared to sit patiently at his master’s feet for the rest of the meal, but Sam continued to ferry bite-sized chunks, sharing his meal equally with Dean. 

Toward the end, Dean had to shake his head, his expression mournful as his shrunken stomach would hold no more. Sam laughed swallowed down the last chunk of the Philly Cheese sandwich, and Dean resisted the urge to rise up and lick the dangling strings of cheese off his master’s lips. Sam laughed when he saw Dean’s gaze directed at his lips, and he used the back of his hand to clean his mouth. Dean licked his lips regretfully. He heard chuckles behind him and turned to look quickly over his shoulder, having forgotten the gathered vampires who sat sipping tall, heated glasses of blood for their meal. One of the vampires laughed and said to Sam, “I don’t know how you get any work done, Winchester, with a slave like that. It makes it hard to concentrate on the details.”

Sam leaned down and grabbed Dean’s collar in one hand pulling Dean’s face up to his. Sam’s lips brushed gently over Dean’s, his tongue swiping across the seam of Dean’s lip almost as if his Master were requesting entrance not just taking it.

Dean’s mouth opened in a soft gasp, and then his mouth was full of Sam’s tongue. Dean’s tongue darted tentatively towards Sam’s and Sam suckled on it like the sweetest candy. Dean could taste the cheese and steak on Sam’s tongue and he moaned into Sam’s mouth as his brother plundered his mouth. When Sam finally withdrew, Dean’s cock was thickening with want and he hung there slightly dazed staring at his brother. He could feel the vampires' lust in the air, and didn’t want to turn to see the hunger-filled eyes trained on him.

Sam’s hand nudged Dean’s shoulder down, and Dean followed the unspoken order and curled himself around Sam’s feet to nap, or lie quietly. Sam sprawled back in his seat and laughed a low, dark sound, seeming fully aware of the effect he’d had on his brother, and on the gathered vampires. “Oh he knows his place, don’t you Dean?” Dean nodded obediently, burying his burning cheeks in his hands as the vampires laughed, and tried to ignore the burgeoning erection his brother had caused.

: : :

_He and Sammy were in the Impala, heading down the road, on a hunt. The road lay straight before them, the sun warm and bright in the midday sky, wheels humming as they moved along. Dean didn't know where they were going, exactly, but he felt a sense of purpose as he gripped the Impala’s steering wheel. Sam laughed at some comment Dean made and then dipped his head down, hair falling to hide his eyes as he went back to analyzing the maps and case notes spilling across his lap._

_Dean smiled fondly at his brother as his hand reached out to flick the radio on low. Tapping his hands on the wheel as a favorite song came on, Dean’s gaze scanned the horizon for any sign of trouble. Sam looked up as the music came on, and he brought his hand up to casually rest along the back of the bench seat. Warm fingers moved closer, until they clasped the back of Dean’s neck. Dean startled at the touch, but relaxed into it as Sam's knowing fingers started to massage him. Then Sam’s hand took a firmer grip, holding Dean’s neck firmly in place as he reached with his other hand to clamp down tight over Dean’s windpipe, squeezing painfully. Dean swallowed, his Adam’s apple catching on the palm of Sam’s hand, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to order Sam to stop. Sam’s hand started to shut off Dean’s air and Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel like they were chained to it._

_Dean’s vision had just started to spark at the edges, bleeding to black, when Sam dropped his hand casually down Dean’s side to rub across his chest. He tweaked Dean’s nipple beneath the layers of flannel and Dean arched back with a soft cry. The touch of Sam’s hand sent an electric jolt through him; he flung his head back, hitting the backrest. Dean gave Sam a startled glance and finally managed to croak out a confused, “Sammy?” Sam smiled cruelly down at him and leaned in to take his lips in a brutal, searing kiss._

_Dean woke confused and shaking in his cage with blood on his lips, his cock half hard and leaking. Dean moaned._

: : :

Dean lay strapped in the dentist-style chair in a small room on one of the lower levels of the Den. He guessed this kind of thing was needed often enough it was cheaper to have in-house facilities than to take the chance of transporting slaves across the city to some indiscriminate tattoo parlor. Then there was the added bonus of the Den being able to equip the room with tools and implements tailored to their specific demands. Like the chair he was in at the moment, it was like no dentist chair he’d ever been in. Manacles on the arms that, like now, could secure flailing arms. Wide leather straps that could be pulled out and across a chest, holding the body flat against the chair so the subject could barely breathe, let alone move, and other straps to spread and position legs perfectly in place, like some pagan offering. Yeah, he could see how the Den would like having facilities like this.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to control his rising hysteria. It was like Dean was sliding back down a deep well he had only just managed to crawl up out of. His limbs felt weak with the same helpless rage and hopelessness as the day he had first been branded. He tried to tell himself he had gotten away from Sam once on his own, and now he had Bobby’s help and more, as a friend, but a tidal wave of hopelessness threatened to swamp him. He tried not to struggle, but the instinct to twist and howl and scream, the need to buck against the restricting leather to get free clawed at him. He knew Sam would get off on his pain and humiliation, much as he had done the first time. Knowing what was coming, knowing how very much he was under Sam's control, and what his brother was capable of, made him realize just how dangerously low he had fallen. The real question was, would he make it back out a second time?

The man Sam was conferring with had tattoos from his shaved scalp down his neck and back, along his arms onto the backs of his hands. His front was covered from the collarbones to where the skin disappeared into the waist of his jeans. For all Dean knew, the guy was tattooed back and front all the way to his toes. He was pulling on a fresh pair of black rubber gloves while he spoke with Sam, muttering about pain thresholds and scar tissue. Dean couldn’t quite make out the whole conversation, but he got the picture; there wasn’t going to be any anesthetic for what came next. He could make money on that bet – that is if he had money, or pockets to carry it in.

Sam came back over to him and shoved his face up against Dean's, licking along the salt trail of tears Dean hadn't known had been falling. He was such a girl these days. “Gonna get you all fixed up, baby. Back to the way you should have always been.” Sam nodded at the tattoo artist and the man approached him with a needle and a slim leather tube, like a dog’s chewtoy. 

“Bite on this, kid,” he said, pinching and twisting Dean’s left nipple in his fingers. As the leather gag was shoved into his mouth, Dean caught the bite marks and bloodstains on it from other ‘clients’. Dean shivered. 

‘No!’ Dean screamed silently as he felt his nipple rise on demand of the teasing fingers. He tried to will his stupid flesh to stay unaroused, but all too soon, the needle was shoved through the healed scar tissue. Dean screamed and his teeth marks joined the ranks of others' in the leather. His brother’s face leaned down, drinking it all in, watching his pain. Dean wanted to deny him, wanted to be the [stalwart](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/stalwart) hero that felt nothing, but he wasn’t that man. Not today at least. And the tattoo artist was grabbing onto the next nipple, pinching it roughly in his grip, and it was happening all over again. 

Dean panted, and there were tears in his eyes by the time the plastic-gloved hands were cradling his cock, turning it this way and that to examine the healed hole. Dean wanted to cringe away, but the chair's straps wouldn't let him.

The bearded man regarded Dean with sympathy in his eyes. “Breathe in deep man, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch. You’ll probably scream or pass out. Or both,” the man warned. 

And it did. And he did.

: : :

Dean had to admit that Sam had become more creative since he was last in his grasp, and a lot more demanding.

It had only been a few days since the piercings went back in, and Dean was still tender. Today, Sam was working offsite, so Dean had been kept bound in his cage all day with a butt plug shoved firmly up his ass, long gloves pinning his arms behind him, each hand laced grasping the opposite elbow so he could find no relief, no matter how he tried to shift and find some ease. And last, Sam had put a blindfold over his eyes, and Dean’s hell was nearly complete. The plug vibrated randomly, whenever Sam felt the urge to press the button, but the cock cage Sam had wrestled onto him that morning, before he left for meetings, assured that Dean would get no relief, no matter how long the button stayed on. Dean had barely eaten, the new dispenser in his cage offering the same old unappetizing stuff. He knew the weight he was losing was apparent, enough that Sam got mad and force-fed him frequently. 

So by the end of the day, it was with a barely bitten-back sob that Dean fell out of the opened cage into Sam’s arms. Sam carefully removed the blindfold and the gloves. His brother took his time leading him to the bathroom, feeding him his dinner, and rubbing Dean’s bare back. But at the end of it all, the plug went back in and the switch flipped back on. Through everything, Sam hadn't said a word, and it played on Dean’s nerves.

Sam ordered Dean to lace his fingers behind his head. His brother manacled his hands together there, chaining them to the loop at the back of his collar where his leash usually attached. Then Sam manhandled his brother across the room to the sofa.

“Miss me, Dean?” Sam purred. 

Dean was gasping and whining, the plug still pounding away on his prostate, and Dean thought he was going to go insane.

“I didn’t hear you answer, Dean?” Sam repeated, a note of warning in his voice.

“Please, Master, please, let me come, please.”

“Now, Dean, you don’t seem to have your mind right, yet. A good slave’s perspective should always be about his master’s pleasure. Want to try that again, baby boy?”

Dean licked his lips, writhing on his back on the sofa as he stared dazedly up at Sam.

“M-master, would you l-l-like to fuck me, master?” Dean winced as he gasped out the words. He had fought so very hard to climb back into his own skin, and now he was the pitiful, begging wreck his brother had turned him into, before. Dean had thought he could take it; now, as day by day Sam cut pieces of him away, he wasn’t so sure.

Sam’s face lit up with an unholy light, and he smiled, a cold calculating smile, the dimples cutting deep dents in either side of his shadowed face. Sam let his finger go off the button briefly and Dean sobbed in relief and felt his scattered brain cells start to gather together again.

“Yes, that’s my boy. And how should we do this, hum?”

“H-however Master wishes.” Dean whispered brokenly his shoulders sagging against the seat, his arms pinned helplessly behind him.

“I think you should eat me out, then we’ll see what happens next.”

Dean slumped in defeat. Of all the things his brother ordered him to do that didn't involve pain, this was his least favorite. The humiliation of licking into his brother’s hole never ceased to affect him.

“On your knees,” Sam ordered as he unzipped and shimmied out of his pants, pulled off his shirt, letting it all fall carelessly to the ground. Dean sat, his gaze riveted on the hated Celtic style knot tattoo on Sam’s chest, sad proof that their father’s death hadn’t broken the spell. Dean wished he could gouge it off with his bare hands, but nothing short of a powerful spell was removing this curse. 

Unaware of Dean’s musings, Sam lounged back onto the sofa, sticking his ass out so it hung over the edge of the seat. He spread his long legs, letting them rest on the coffee table and leaving Dean more than enough room to crawl in between them. “No, first lick me, get me ready for after and use lots of spit. Cause, if you’re good, that’s all you’re gonna have afterward to make it easy on yourself.”

Dean knelt forward and took a small risk by spitting on his master’s cock. He wasn’t sure if it would earn him a beating or not, but it was the one surefire way to move things along. To his surprise, Sam laughed, flat out laughed, and Dean looked up in relief as he swallowed his brother down. He licked under the sensitive head, swirling his tongue over the slit, and then deep-throated his brother’s thickening shaft, wishing he’d taken another drink before Sam had got home. 

He bobbed up and down a few times until Sam bucked up his hips, hurrying him along. Dean let go of Sam’s growing cock with a wet plop, then laved his balls carefully before trailing his tongue down the taint to Sam’s lightly haired entrance. He angled his body and chained arms to get closer to Sam’s hole. He swirled his tongue around the tightly puckered opening, grimacing at the dark taste. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his tongue in as deeply as he could. As he shoved the wet muscle into Sam’s entrance. He could hear Sam moaning above him, his legs jouncing up and down in arousal.

“Mmm baby, mmm, that’s good, keep going.” Sam moaned and reached down to pull Dean’s head in closer to his hole.

Dean tried to ignore the taste on his tongue and set up a stabbing rhythm, stiffening his tongue and shoving in and out as fast as he could. He could hear the wet movements above him as Sam took himself in hand and stripped his cock. Sam’s balls tightening, and Dean could feel himself struggling to harden inside the cock cage, he prayed his master would let him come tonight.

“Okay, Dean, good. Come up now.” Sam’s voice was breathless as he tugged on Dean’s hair, pulling him up. Sam’s cock was standing upright and proud, the mushroom head leaking steadily, and Dean licked his lips at the sight of it.

“Turn around, baby.” Sam ordered, and when Dean complied, Sam pulled the hated plug, out of Dean’s ass, leaving his hole strangely empty after being filled all day. Sam slapped him on the ass, regaining his attention as he ordered, “Okay, climb on board, baby, it’s all for you.” Sam said, his voice a filthy whisper. 

With his arms bound, Dean maneuvered himself back to hover over Sam on the sofa. He started to sit down, trying to guide Sam’s cock without the use of his hands. Sam reached out and caught him, helped him to lower himself down until he was finally sitting on Sam’s shaft.

Dean moaned as his brother’s length entered him. Sam’s girth hurt a little as it split him open, but it felt good in spite of that.

When he was fully seated on his brother’s dick, his back pressed up against Sam’s chest, Sam began to lick and nuzzle at the nape of Dean’s neck. Sam’s hands reached out and started to twist and pull at Dean’s nipples. He cried out in pleasure/pain as the sensation went right to his dick. Dean bit his lip against the moan that wanted to come out of his mouth. He felt like a bug on a pin, his hands laced behind his head like a bank hostage, teetering on Sam’s lap, held in place for Sam’s pleasure. 

Then Sam started to rock up into him, powerful thighs straining beneath him. “God, you’re so tight, Dean, no matter how many times I fuck you. So fucking tight and hot, like a glove, fitting me just right.” 

Dean could feel his hole flutter around Sam as he was pierced again and again by Sam’s cock as he stroked in. Dean’s thighs quivered with strain and he spread his bent knees further as he tried to raise and lower himself on Sam’s shaft, the way Sam liked. 

Dean was glad he was facing away, so that Sam couldn’t see the shamed look on his face as his own labored cock strained in its cage, over his brother’s pleasure. When he couldn't take it anymore he started begging. “Please Master, please, let me come Master, please. I’ll be good, so good, Master.”

“I know you will, Dean,” Sam whispered softly in his ear, reaching an arm around to rub his stomach comfortingly. “I know you will, but I just realized something baby, honest to God I just remembered. The tattooist said no coming for five days, baby. In my excitement I forgot to count. I just realized this is only the fourth day. Your poor little cock isn’t ready to come yet.” 

And Dean felt a panic attack coming on; blackness started to close in on him as his chest tightened. He couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to this, to a crying, sniveling baby, because Sam wouldn’t let him come. But it was Dean’s rising level of helplessness that was at the core of everything: Sam controlling his every move and thought again, when he ate, when he shitted and when he came. Dean felt tears running down his cheeks, and Sam petted him comfortingly as he continued to chase his own pleasure. 

His brother’s rocking gestures picked up speed and he bucked up into Dean in earnest now, and Dean sobs were louder – almost hysterical with need. He wasn’t at all sure Sam was even trying to avoid his prostate, the bastard. Dean tried desperately to find his calm center, felt himself floating away, somewhere else, out of Sam’s reach. As Sam's release flooded Dean’s bowels, Sam bit down on the meat of Dean’s shoulder, marking him. Dean howled in pain and denial, even as he was yanked back into his body. Escape denied. 

But the bite succeeded in a different way, thought forced back to reality, the pain distracted and Dean started to come back to himself. His straining dick was still aching in the cock cage that held it, but he was starting to come down. Sam laved the bleeding bite and whispered soothing words to his distraught brother. 

“It’ll be okay, baby. Just one more day, and I’ll take care of you. You trust me to do that, right?”

Dean nodded mutely. Sam unlocked his bound hands, allowing them to drop down weakly in front of him, and then he pulled out of Dean. He turned Dean gently in his lap and licked the tears on Dean’s cheeks. Dean moaned, and Sam kissed him, his tongue sucking gently on Dean’s instead of its usual domination, and something within Dean found comfort in that. Sam spent some time soothing his brother, whispering apologies in his ear while he rolled his fingers over Dean’s nipples again, causing him to twist and moan. The apology was another new thing for this kinder, gentler Sam. It almost made Dean ignore the pain. 

Then Sam pushed him up off the couch and led him unprotesting to back his cage. He gave him one final kiss, his tongue pressing into him, lapping gently inside Dean’s mouth and Sam tasted so damn good Dean forgot himself and leaned into his brother’s hold. 

Sam chuckled against his mouth as he released the plush lips, he snapped Dean’s arms cuffs together in front of him and tucked him in for the night. The cage door swung closed, the new blanket Sam had suddenly allowed him wrapped securely around him, Dean’s eyelids fluttered closed. He felt at peace, secure in the knowledge that he only had to wait one more day. His Master had promised. 

: : :

Dean was kneeling next to Sam’s desk when the knock came. Sam had been taking a break, playing with Dean’s now fully-healed nipple rings, trying to see if he could make his slave come from torturing and sucking his nipples alone. Dean feared Sam was close to reaching that goal and he whined in misery at the interruption, his straining cock leaking and twitching. Sam slapped it and hushed him gently as his visitor strode into the room.

He recognized the voice, but he had never seen the man’s face yet. It was the man from the sties, the man who owned the Raiser’s Den, Dick Roman.

“Ahh, Mr. Roman, I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I thought the tour wasn’t until later this afternoon, sir.” Dean watched as Sam stood, hunching his shoulders a little so he wouldn’t tower over the big boss.

“Stand up straight Sam, be proud of who you are. No need to suck up to me if you’re doing a good job. And you, by all accounts, are doing a very good job. ”

“Ah, well, thank you sir, good to hear. I’ve just been trying to streamline things, be more efficient. But I’ve been taking it slow, trying not make too many rookie mistakes.”

“And it’s that eye for caution paired with efficiency that we need, Sam, so I’m thinking of moving you up the ladder, putting you in charge of distribution.”

“Really, sir?” Dean could see Sam swipe the hair out of his eyes as he straightened his tie, suddenly nervous. “I don’t want to let you down, sir.”

“Oh you won’t, Sam. After all, there’s some incentive for you to do your best work. I’m sure you don’t want your family separated again.”

“P-pardon, sir?” Dean heard the near squeak in Sam’s voice, and Dean allowed himself to peek up through his fall of hair to get his first real glimpse of Dick Roman.

It was like looking at a cheesy infomercial VP, all teeth and fake smile. But there was something darkly scary about Roman, and Dean swallowed around the penis gag stuffed in his mouth. He squirmed slightly, alarm bells going off in his head.

“Oh, no need to be coy, Sam. I know your secret. And I know who our pretty little slave is too.” Dean could almost feel it as Roman leaned over the desk and looked down at him. “Did you really think we wouldn’t look a little deeper, Dean, when you give a name like Billy Gibbons? Ha! I think I like your nerve, boy. You've got a lot of it, and I admire that. It seems to run in the family.” Roman turned to look at Sam and said, “Normally, I wouldn’t even consider employing an ex-hunter turned mercenary for hire, but let’s just say you and your father have shown a wonderful change of heart over the last few years. Started being more my kind of people. And what’s a little incest, if we keep it in the family?” The smile he offered Sam showed all his teeth.

“Sit down Sam, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Roman strolled around Sam’s desk and half-cheeked it on the corner of the floating behemoth where Dean was leashed. He looked down at Dean, who had dropped his head at the mention of his and Sam’s relationship. He saw Sam carefully take his seat. Dean’s mind was spinning wildly. Had Sam and Dad really gone off the reservation? Had the spell really turned them so evil they weren’t even hunters anymore? Dean had been kept so far in the dark on what his family had been up to, that really, anything could have happened, and he wouldn't have known. He had only Bobby to tell him what Sam and John had been up to, and as far as Bobby knew, they had still been working for the white hats. 

He startled when Roman reached down and grabbed him by the back of the head, twisting his neck back, bared and exposed to Roman. The man dipped down and for a brief moment Dean thought the man was going to bite him, and that, that right there was just strange. Dean’s gut clutched at the thought, but all Roman did was inhale deeply and rub his face along Dean’s neck. Dean shivered at the intimate contact. 

When Roman raised his head to look back at Sam the fake shark smile was back in place, and he said, “Just imagine it, the Winchester brothers back together again, both laboring on our side.”

Dean jerked in Roman’s grip and had his head wrenched back farther in punishment. He heard Sam push back his chair and begin to rise in alarm.

Dick continued, “Oh don’t look so surprised, Sam. I know who all our staff picks are and their backgrounds. You’ve all been carefully pre-vetted before selection, management and the fodder. I can’t have the wrong kind of people enter into my service. It would never do to recruit folks that would draw too much attention if they went missing. This is strictly a low key, cash and carry business, and I want to keep it that way.” Roman released Dean’s hair and tweaked the end of the penis gag, laughing in Dean’s face as he stared admiringly at him. “And aren’t you just the cutest thing. I like you quiet like this, Dean.”

Sam nodded, slightly dazed, and Roman stood, straightening his tie. “You’ll find I like to keep a lot of things very hands on, Sam, from the merchandise to the way we do business, because when you leave those kind of decisions up to lackeys, well, that’s how empires fall. I have to say, I think it's kind of perfect the way things have turned out. You, Sam, laboring for me and Dean laboring under you. Kind of poetic, and isn’t that what family is all about? Now, put that boy on a leash; it’s time I show you the real backbone of the business.”

Roman reached down again to lift Dean’s dazed face up to look at him.

“I’ll have to taste you at some point in the game, Dean. That’ll be alright with you, won't it, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam, and I thought you didn’t swing that way?” Sam responded coolly, and Dean struggled to keep his expression neutral.

“I don't, but consider it the cost of entry.”

: : :

Dean felt sick, truly, utterly sick. He wanted to fall down on his knees and vomit up the plate of mash Sam had fed him earlier that morning. Sam tugged the leash impatiently, and Dean stumbled forward. He swallowed repeatedly to try and keep from spewing. It’s not like it would go all over the floor, the penis gag still in his mouth meant he’d more than likely drown in his own puke before any help arrived. And in spite of some bad moments, he still very much wanted to stay alive. Even if he didn’t die, drawing more of Dick’s attention upon himself might even be worse, so he swallowed, hard. 

He thought they were several stories lower than the sties. They had gotten here via a different secure-coded elevator, one that Dean hadn’t even seen, let alone ridden in before. It took them to a vaulted area that Dean speculated might take advantage of some natural caves beneath the Raiser’s Den. He continued to contemplate the logistics of the area, anything to keep his mind off what they were walking past. The room was filled with row upon row of bodies strapped to beds, and Dean tried to avoid the desperate eyes and moans for help as they passed. He had never felt so helpless in all his life, and more than ready to kill a human: Dick Roman, to be specific.

Oblivious, Roman continued with his sales patter, “Yes, with our production line there’s no need, now, for any high-profile killings. Our clients can dine in luxury for the rest of their lives on a variety of flavors or specialty blends – _if_ they have the money. I’ve even developed a few myself, my own personal stock, of course. Baby blood is a rarity, but we do get our hands on it occasionally.” Dick turned to walk backwards, his arms spreading to encompass the cavernous room lined with feeding tubes, waste lines, and blood tubes, routing to row after row of bare steel-framed cots, with humans strapped to them. 

“And there’s no waste." Roman went on, with self-satisfied pride. "First, the recruits are used in our various operations all over the states. Then, as they tire and get damaged, or wear out servicing our clients, we move them into production. A few minor modifications here and there to help control the population, and we’re good to go. We can expect a healthy specimen to last for months before the blood goes stale. Then, there's the post-secondary market for the meat. There’s a whole mailing list of various types of demons who would die for fresh, recently butchered meat. And it all goes out UPS, shipped free of charge to our premium clients within days, so distance isn’t even an obstacle.”

Dean lost it then and turned to run. He couldn’t stay here amid all these pitiful staring eyes. He couldn’t even look at Sam. Didn’t want to see the blank acceptance in his brother’s eyes, see what a monster he’d become. Dean got only a few short steps when he heard Sam’s voice, his unspoken order to stop as he shouted, “Dean.” He felt the leash on his neck that he’d forgotten about, yanking him back, choking him, making him stumble back and fall on his ass.

Before his head hit the side of one of the steel framed-cots, he saw an attendant unbuckle a feeding tube from a man’s face to fuss with the lines. He heard the man’s garbled cry for help, the noise strange and ragged, and Dean realized the man’s tongue had been cut out. Dean had never been so grateful to pass out in his life.

: : :

“Oh, now there’s our boy!” Roman’s overly cheerful voice greeted him as Dean’s eyelids fluttered open, and Dean wanted to close them again and sink back into the darkness. Roman’s effusiveness was too much to face on first waking. Instead, he turned his head aside and tried to take stock of where he was. It seemed to be a small but luxuriously appointed office, and he was lying on a banquette against one wall. Large windows lined one side of the room overlooking the vault. So they were still there. He swallowed, his throat dry and aching. He was relieved to find the gag had mercifully been removed.

“Here, Dean, drink.” Sam’s voice was refreshingly… normal after Dick’s infomercial cadences, and Dean opened his mouth gratefully. His lips wrapped around the plastic bottle, and he sucked down the cool refreshing water without hesitation. If Sam wanted him drugged, he’d be drugged, in the meantime he might as well quench his thirst.

“I can see where your brother would be a bit overawed by the efficiency of the place. It’s a pretty amazing thing to take in,” Roman piped up behind him, unwilling to be ignored. “So what do you think, Sam?”

“It’s pretty impressive, sir. I had no idea. And what do you need me for?”

“Why to run things, Sam. You've increased efficiency upstairs by thirty percent – just imagine what you could do here. How you could improve productivity if you were in charge of things. This would be your office. Of course, you could keep your apartment upstairs as well. I know not everybody is a nighthawk like me. It would be a V.P. position in the company and a forty percent bump in pay. If you do as well as I think you will, probably a bonus at the end of the year. I’ll even throw in the ownership papers for your brother, here. Under his real name, so there’s no misunderstanding in the future. You could consider it a signing bonus, because right now he’s still house property with a one way ticket to one of those cots, sooner or later.” Roman paused for effect like any good huckster. “So what do you say, son?”

Sam’s hand had let the bottle slip from Dean’s lips, and Dean waited breathless as he watched his brother’s inscrutable face contemplate his decision. He wanted to cry out ‘No, no, no, don’t do it Sammy’, but this wasn’t really his brother.

“Well, sir, that’s a pretty significant promotion. I do have one question though – why all this? You’re fabulously wealthy on your own. Why risk getting into a business like this? Not that I don’t admire the acumen behind it.”

“Secure food chain, Sam. I’m flattered that you hadn’t picked up on it, but I was bitten on a business trip three years ago in L.A. Never even heard of vampires until then. That fanger had the capacity to ruin an international empire, not to mention all my hard work with his little impromptu snack. But I said, Dick, you can’t let this put you down. You just have to overcome this like any other business obstacle.”

Dean’s head spun at the implications, and it all suddenly made an awful, terrible kind of sense. Dean turned to see Roman playing with a letter opener on the desk. If the sound were turned off, you’d think he was just another corporate shark talking about his business, in his thousand dollar suit and shoes and hundred dollar hair cut. But with the sound on, he was a monster needing to be put down. Dean shook his head, he shouldn’t be surprised when yet another monster stepped in his path, but this one still had managed it. He licked his lips and tried to concentrate on what Roman was saying.

“…so that’s how my little empire was born, and I have to say Sam, the supernatural community is far more lucrative and loyal a market than I ever expected. I’ve made so many far-reaching contacts, my regular business activities have quadrupled. Nothing like a little blood to seal a great business deal. Being turned has been one of the best things to happen in my life. The increased life expectancy only makes things sweeter. You should try it.”

Roman strode over extending his hand to Sam where he still crouched by Dean’s side, his wide-eyed smile never leaving his face. “Now, do we have a deal or don’t we?”

Sam snorted and chuckled darkly, “I don’t really know how can I refuse, sir.”

“Now you’re talking my language, Sam. Right answer.” Roman clapped his hands and rubbed them appreciatively. He gazed over at Dean still lying weak and dazed on the bench. “Now how about that taste of your brother to celebrate?” Dean watched in horrified fascination as Roman’s smile widened and fangs snicked down into place.

He could feel Sam still beside him, his free hand spreading protectively over Dean’s chest as if to hold Roman off. Dean could feel the rapid beating of his heart reflecting into Sam’s palm and a bright spark of hope coiled in his heart that some part of Sam was still there. That his brother would protect him from the monsters. 

The words that left his brother’s lips, however, left him aching and disappointed. He turned his head away when Sam only said, “Whatever you’d like, sir. I’d consider it an honor.”

: : :


	4. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

The trip back to their suite was accomplished in near total silence. Dean stumbled numbly along, whether it was the shock of seeing the depraved depths of Roman’s operation or simply the blood loss, he couldn’t be sure. A million questions rattled around in his brain and he wondered if he was brave or stupid enough to ask Sammy any of them. As they walked into Sam’s apartment he found himself slammed up against the wall of the foyer with Sam’s tongue down his throat. 

Sam was rubbing his groin up against Dean’s naked one, and Dean’s questions died unasked on his lips. When Sam reluctantly released Dean’s mouth, he was hard and panting. Sam rested his head against Dean’s forehead, breathing in gulps of air as he continued to pin Dean to the wall. When his head rose, he began to lick along the line of Dean’s jaw and across his throat. Sam’s hands running nervously over Dean’s naked body, tweaking his nipple rings as he continued to rut against him. Dean felt a sharp bright hurt when Sam’s tongue slid wetly over Roman’s bite marks digging into the dints in Dean’s flesh. 

Dean moaned, feeling sick and dirty, which seemed to make Sam even crazier. He grabbed Dean’s collar in his hand and dragged him staggering and half choking into the bedroom. Dean’s spirits sank. His brother’s arousal in the face of Dick’s deal was answer enough for which side Sam was playing on.

: : :

“You’re all mine Dean. Not ever gonna leave me again, right baby?” Sam voice ground out as he fucked up into Dean. Dean struggled to maintain his balance, after Sam had manhandled him onto the bed; and Dean was getting tired of his little brother shoving him around like spare baggage. That hadn’t been the worst of it though. Once there, Sam had proceeded to truss him up like a prize-winning calf he’d just ridden to the ground. Dean’s arms bound behind his back and his eyes blindfolded only helped to exaggerate all the sensations Dean was being forced to feel.

His knees trembled with the strain, and he bit at his lips struggling to keep his cries of pleasure to himself. He was teetering near exhaustion, as he raised his shaking thighs and rode back up and down Sam’s shaft. All he wanted to do when they got back to their suite after their trip down horror lane was crawl into his cage and wake up in some other reality where this was all just a bad dream and his brother wasn’t a monster. 

He was starting to list precariously, too weary to right himself and mewled incoherently in distress. Fortunately, Sam took over and Dean sighed in relief. He didn’t have to lift himself up and down on to Sam’s hard length anymore. Sam was driving now. Dean could feel the fingers of Sam’s left hand travel up his thigh and along his hip to trail along the puckered edges of the brand on his right hip. Dean felt his breath catch. He heard Sam growl possessively before he grasped both of Dean’s hips in his large hands and proceeded to ram up into him in earnest. Dean was only barely able to concentrate on keeping himself upright as his brother, his Master, rammed carelessly into him.

Dean’s cock was hard and aching, and he despised the tendrils of arousal spiraling through him at each rubbing pass Sam made across his prostate. Dean almost sobbed when he found himself arching back to meet Sam’s thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. Sam had been methodical. He’d been working at this steadily, carefully, like a case, working to make Dean want it. Worst of all, he had succeeded. He’d turned his older brother into a cock hungry whore, gagging for it, ready to roll over every time Sam snapped his fingers. Ready to perform for his brother for the promise of the merest show of affection. 

Sam breaking him with pleasure had happened far faster than when he first broke him with pain. Dean’s self-loathing took on new heights over the last few weeks as Sam ramped up his assault to win his brother’s willing compliance. Dean had tried desperately to hang on to some small part of himself, but in the face of Sam’s determined training cycle of arousal and approval he feared he had lost. He had tried not to flounder under Sam’s all encompassing control; to stay focused on the end goal. Sooner or later Sam would fall into old habits, but Dean could feel himself at an end. 

A startled moan broke through Dean’s lips, and Sam’s hand reached forward and started to stroke him, his hand playing teasingly with the PA piercing. Dean moaned again and returned to worry on his raw and savagely bitten lips. He was suddenly, wearily grateful for the blindfold, so he couldn’t see the smirk of satisfaction on his brother’s face as Dean’s will folded before him like a cheap suit. 

It had all been so much simpler before. Before, all Dean had to do was endure and play the long game of trying to cure his dad and brother. And he had still been playing that game, waiting for Sam to act, but it had taken too long. Sam was making him feel it, feel everything. Every pleasure, all the time, and Dean didn’t know what to do with that. When he was not being brutal and cruel with him in front of his staff he acted like he almost cared about Dean. The wildly conflicting emotions Dean was experiencing were starting to make him feel like he was being torn apart. 

All Dean wanted, all he’d ever wanted, was to cure his brother and get back to business, the family business of saving people, hunting things. But this, this was messy and ugly and wrong. Sam was stirring up feelings in Dean he’d rather not have experienced; feelings of desire for his brother. 

Dean's cock thickened at the touch of Sam's fingers as they traveled down his shaft, his breath hitched in want. Sam’s large hand engulfed his dick easily, comfortably, like it belonged there, a too-knowledgeable thumb rubbing over his weeping slit and massaging the tender skin beneath the head of his cock just right, and Dean squirmed. He cried out as Sam’s dick brushed over that spot, and Dean was suddenly there, hovering on the edge of completion, aching, for release. 

A sickening sensation washed through him as he realized his brother had won in another way.

Dean was waiting for the command, waiting to be told to come. As if reading his mind Sam let out a warm, dirty chuckle, his voice a dark caress ghosting over Dean’s sweating, shivery skin, “Come for me, Dean.”

And he did. Thrusting desperately into the hand holding him, once, twice, and on the third stroke he came. He clenched down and he could feel his brother give in to his own release; jetting deep inside Dean’s slick channel. Dean continued to ride Sam, gently milking his brother of the last of his orgasm. Finally, Sam was twitchy and oversensitive, and Dean was allowed to topple down onto the bed beside him. Sam’s softened cock pulled out as he moved. He lay there weary and fucked out in the darkness of the blindfold barely breathing. 

As his respiration evened out, sleep nibbled at the edges of his consciousness and Dean wondered if he would be allowed to stay in his master’s bed tonight. He wondered at this new Sam, this softer Sam. He still controlled Dean ruthlessly, owned him body and soul, but once he got what he wanted from Dean, he seemed more careful of Dean’s pleasure. Dean wasn’t sure if this was all part of his new evil plan to break him, but he couldn’t help but feel a warm lick of gratitude curl around his heart at the thought of Sam’s concern. 

He quickly shoved those soft, useless feelings aside. Sam was not his Sam right now, and a secret dark part of him worried that these new feelings and dark desires wouldn’t be so easy to shove back into the box when he finally got his real brother back. And how would Sam think of his own behavior and Dean’s? He shivered in dread as sleep tugged him under.

Sam’s sudden laugh near his ear jerked Dean back to wakefulness. He sounded so much younger than normal, relaxed; and Dean realized Sam was just getting started tonight. He barely had time to think before Sam rolled over onto Dean and shoved his tongue in Dean’s mouth, pushing him back, taking control as he mapped his interior with his tongue. He kissed Dean breathless, and Dean lay there panting as Sam continued to lick into him and bite at his lips, and suck purpling bruises in the soft skin of his neck. 

Sam’s wide sensuous lips traced a wet trail down his body. He stopped to swirl a wet stripe around each of Dean’s pebbled nipples and sucked and bit at the tender buds, teeth tugging at the bright metal studs, until Dean bucked and moaned in pain and renewed arousal. With a final swipe Sam continued to lick and bite his way down Dean’s body and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He’d hoped Sam would tire and fall asleep but his brother was celebrating his success with Dick and seemed strangely possessed tonight. One hand reached out to grasp his branded hip and turn him on his side, Dean’s hands clenched in their cuffs. 

“Love that, love seeing my mark on you. Roman may want you, Dean, may even be able to taste you, but at the end of the day, in the middle of the night, you’re all mine.” 

Dean felt a fissure of lust zing through him at the thought of being his brother’s possession, and that caught him by completely by surprise. He’d felt the need to come before, yearned for it, but he’d never ‘wanted’ his brother to take him, like there was a connection, some link between them. And this new feeling was so, so wrong that Dean couldn’t breathe, could hardly get his mind to kick into gear, so when the moment actually arrived he almost missed it. Sam licked along the edges of Dean’s brand and Dean gasped out a breath, he wondered if Sam could hear his heart as it beat frantically, anxiously in his chest. 

As Sam’s tongue dug into the grooves and rivulets of the scarred flesh of his mark, it made Dean feel at once queasy, and unimaginably, even more aroused. He barely had time to think as the spell flared to life with a sizzle of energy that shot sparks along his hip. He felt a strange warm sensation envelop his body as the enzymes in the saliva from Sam’s mouth broke down the protective coating. As the spell's components painted into his flesh so long ago were released.

Dean was grateful he’d practiced the spell so often that in spite of the spike of the dizzying wave of lust that rushed through him as he lay there locked in darkness, it was second nature for him to start chanting.

**_Yangon misericordaliter audite meus votum._ **

**_Meus ira has been frigus._ **

**_Meus ultionis est dulcis._ **

**_Solvo is pusillus letalis ex ties tenura is._ **

**_Vestri opus hic est perfectus._ **

**_Vestri opus hic est perfectus._ **

Dean mentally filled in the translation so carefully researched and crafted by Bobby over these last few months. Like all of the strongest spells it was deceptively simple.

_Yangon the merciful hear my prayer._

_My anger has been cooled._

_My revenge is sweet._

_Free this puny mortal from the ties holding it._

_Your work here is done._

_Your work here is done._

Over his tersely grunted out words and the howling wind that suddenly filled the room, he could barely hear Sam’s sharp intake of breath. He felt Sam’s hands dig punishingly into his sides as the spell's tendrils wrapped around them. Sam tried to pull away, but it was as if his tongue was welded to Dean’s brand, their two bodies irrevocably joined at that point in space. Fear and hope burned through him so strong he could hardly breathe. Dean felt a sizzling sensation as the last few words of the spell fell from his lips, then a bolt of pain sliced through him, shooting out of the brand like a bomb blast. 

He was flung away from Sam, and ended slammed up against the headboard of the bed. He cried out in pain whispering Sammy’s name. He could hear Sam’s accompanying scream before everything went black.

: : :

_“I don’t like it Dean, Jesus, how are we gonna keep you safe in there?” Dean threw his duffel into the back of the old Ford and slammed down the trunk lid with a dull thud of finality. They’d been over this a dozen times already, and he didn't want to argue anymore, they were long past that point. He walked around to the driver’s door where Bobby stood waiting, hands jammed in his pockets, obviously unhappy._

_“Well, you said you knew a Scowler that owed you a favor. I figured he could get in to see me after I get past the initial inspection and was out on the floor. There’s no way the staff sorcerers would let me smuggle it in, but a client? They’d never see it coming, especially not a demon client. Once I apply it, that holding spell you found should keep it safe from anything but saliva. As long as some of the other kinkier clients don’t lick me there, we should be good. I don’t really want to over share, but let’s just say that was always Sam’s thing. He’s bound to do it sooner or later. I just have to wait him out.”_

_“But what if we’re wrong Dean, what if it doesn’t work, the holding spell wears off, hell, what if the spell itself doesn’t work? And who’s to say Sam even is there, or would claim you?” Bobby’s faded blue eyes showed concern, and Dean couldn’t help but bask in it. It had been so long since anyone cared if he lived or died, or showed anything but lustful concern for his wellbeing. It was nice to know after all the lies Hands and Fists had told him that Bobby still really was on his side._

_“Then you better figure out a way to get me out of there, Bobby, because I’m guessing after a couple of weeks as a chew toy for a bunch of demons, there won’t be much left.”_

_“There’s got to be another way, son. Sam doesn’t even suspect. He’ll swing by here one of these days, and we’ll have him.” Bobby unconsciously reached out a hand keeping the Ford’s door open, stopping Dean from leaving._

_Dean shook his head. “Bobby it’s been our first big break in months. Hell, it took you two months to crack the curse, and me three months to find him and find out they’ve been picking off hunters to use in the trade. And thank god for that, or we wouldn’t even have an in. If we don’t act now, the house will shut down soon and move to some other secret location. It could take us months to track him down again, and there’s no guarantee he isn’t already on to the fact I’m hiding out here. I’ve got to go for it.”_

: : :

Dean could hear Sam crying nearby and he struggled to rise. He had been half asleep but was coming to fast, his brother needed him, needed him now by the sounds of things. Fuck, his arms were bound behind him and he couldn’t see and his head was aching like a son of a bitch. He had to wriggle blindly toward the sounds of Sam’s distress like an inch worm; creeping slowly across the silky soft sheets of the bed….huh? He bumped up against naked flesh, a chest! His brother’s sobs suddenly loud in his ear, Sam. 

He was crying like his heart was breaking and Dean rushed out, “Sam, Sammy, it’s okay, I’m here. Sam what’s wrong? I’m here, man. I – I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m tied up, and I can’t see you. What have they done to you, are you okay? Not sure what’s got us, but we’ll get out of it somehow, just, just talk to me Sam, tell me you’re alright?” 

Dean’s words were a whispered plea and he tried to nudge the blindfold off by rubbing his face against the bed, to no avail. He silently cursed as his brother continued to sob, and that was just wrong. Winchesters don’t cry, it was one of the first things their dad taught them. The bed shivered beside him, but there was no other response except for another heart wrenching wave of sounds. 

What if their captor heard them? Dean wished desperately he could remember what had led up to this, what they were facing. But he was drawing a blank and his hip hurt like hell, like someone had pushed a fiery brand into his flesh and it was raw and aching and – then it all came back to Dean in a floodtide. 

The curse, his brother, Hands, Fists… He sucked in a breath and knelt up. His hands clenched uselessly behind him, and he became conscious of his cock, flaccid and covered in his own come, and the crusted remains of his brother's come between the cheeks of his ass. Dean felt sickened as Sam’s seed trickled slowly out of his abused hole, and he winced at the sensation. He was barely able to breathe as he listened now for a reaction from his brother. Dreaded what he would hear, what he would find when the crying stopped. Did the spell work? Did he have a brother now, or something far worse? 

Finally the sobbing trailed off to soft snuffles. He could sense his brother curled there beside him in a ball on the bed, looking at him. He wondered what Sam was seeing, if he even remembered the last few years. If he was looking at Dean with loathing and disgust, seeing him reduced to a fuck toy, a slave pitifully grateful for any kindness his master showed. Not the strong, free man he once was. 

Dean turned his head away in shame and tried to think of something else. He wondered what time it was, was it morning or night? Would someone come to the door any minute now, because Sam was late for a meeting, and what would happen then? He shivered and finally got up the nerve to husk out a single word, “Sammy?” It felt like his voice should echo, like he was calling down a deep dark well, as he tried to pull his brother out of hell, but his voice was strangely small in the room and Sam was right there, lying beside him, quiescent now.

: : :

 


	5. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : : 

Part 2 –  “Into my heart an air that kills / From yon far country blows: / What are those blue remembered hills, / What spires, what farms are those? ”  A. E. Housman 

 

: : :

 

Awake.

Sam felt like he was climbing up out of a long dark dream – or a nightmare, a four year long one that only ended in the stark realization that this was not a dream, and the awful reality of what he had done began to sink in. 

He couldn’t bring enough air into his lungs as he looked at Dean kneeling there on the bed, blindfolded, Sam's marks all over him, a used, beaten slave, waiting for the next of his master's demands, nothing like the tough big brother in Sam’s memory. He flushed, horrified, as he recalled the last few months, of re-breaking Dean to his hand since discovering him in the Den, since he came back to Sam.

Desperately he tried to remember what had happened, how it had come to this, and he howled in agony as he began to search frantically through the last four years since their run-in with the witch. Breath left him as he relived some of the pain and humiliation he and his father had subjected his brother to. Tears ran down his cheeks as Sam stared blindly ahead of him, no longer seeing Dean on the bed before him, lost in the memory of the first time he had raped his brother – the first of many times. 

The feeling of power and righteousness as his hand clamped down on Dean’s neck the first time he took him. He had chained Dean into a kneeling position and tormented his brother until he had begged to be raped. Tears continue to rain down Sam’s face at the memory of that first hard thrust into Dean, how he had relished every grunt and cry of pain, had urged him to cry louder. The vicious thrill that had run through him at the thought of taking his brother again and again. The grinning glances he and his father had shared as they each took their turn on Dean’s no longer virgin ass. 

A thousand and one sadistic memories vied for Sam’s attention and he had no shadow of a doubt that he could ever possibly atone for it all. And Dean, loyal, brave Dean… a sob tore from Sam’s throat, a cry of utter devastation and shame. Sam knew the only reason Dean had stayed was some kind of misguided belief he could cure them. That the only reason he was in the Raiser’s Den right now was that same instinct to save his brother. 

Sam’s head dropped down to his chest, and he curled into a tighter ball on the bed as he stared into the cold bleak reality that he was a monster.

He couldn’t stop the wailing cries of pain as equal parts aguish and guilt tore through him. All he wanted to do was scoop his battered and broken brother up, and run out of the Den as far away from Dick Roman as he could. Though the hunter in him realized that if he did that, everything Dean had gone through, everything his father had tried to do would be wasted. He was so close, now. He had made it to the inner circle, the right time, the right position, gaining Roman’s trust – all he had to do was hang on for a few more weeks and he could bring it all crashing down around Roman’s ears.

Sam lay there trying to gain control of the shuddering sobs racking his body as he weighed his brother’s sanity against the lives of all Roman’s current victims and future ones. He knew Roman had the suite riddled with bugs, and he had already found several direct video feeds throughout the apartment. The kinky bastard was probably watching him this minute. Even though his first instinct was to grab Dean up right now and run from the Raiser’s Den as fast as his legs could take him, cold reality set in. Sam squeezed his eyes closed and prayed his brother would find it in him to forgive him when this was all over. Prayed there would still be something of Dean left when this was all over.

Now, he had to do the hardest thing he had ever done in his life: pull himself back together and taunt his blindfolded brother as if nothing had happened and the spell-lifting had failed...

He squeezed his eyes closed and begged God's and Dean’s forgiveness as he began to laugh. He watched, his heart breaking, as Dean’s face crumpled.

: : :

The bed moving was all the warning Dean got as he was suddenly thrown backwards onto his back. Sam kneeling over him, his weight pinning Dean to the bed with his arms still bound behind him. He could feel Sam’s breath close to his face. The soft sobs turned to chuckles and then to outright laugher, then the bed was jiggling as Sam howled above him with glee.

“You think your little party tricks will work on me Dean? You’ll need to do better research. There’s nothing you can do to change me back to that weak, sad pathetic thing I once was. Do you understand that Dean? Do you?”

And Sam was shaking Dean and his head felt like it was going to rattle off. The bite of Sam’s words no worse than the flood of disappointment coursing through Dean. The spell hadn’t worked. Something had gone wrong. And now he was trapped. Trapped with this sadist who wore his brother’s face. Dean couldn’t speak. He was in shock. All he could do was nod his head in agreement and whimper as Sam’s hands dug deeper into his forearms. He cried out in pain and he felt his brother’s hands falter.

A harsh banging sounded at the front door of the suite and Sam jerked his hands away. Dean could hear Roman’s voice through the thick wood of the door. “Sam are you in there, are you okay? We’re coming in Sam.”

Sam cursed while Dean listened, still numb with the shock of his failure. Sam snatched up his pants, sliding into them, barely rising off the bed before Roman, and by the number of heavy footsteps, at least three or four security guards were crowding in at the door. No fewer than two guns cocked as the men entered. Dean held perfectly still.

He could feel Sam groping on the bed for something, finally hearing the soft whisper of his dress shirt as he snatched it up discarded from amid the sheets.

“What’s going on Sam? We tracked a power surge in the suite, the numbers were off the chart. My men and I came to make sure you were safe.”

“Seems like there’s still a little rebellion left in Dean after all that I have yet to root out.” Dean could hear Sam’s voice directed at him where he knelt shivering on the bed. He could feel the heat radiating off his brother’s body as he moved to loom over him, “I’m disappointed, Dean. All I wanted to do was celebrate my promotion and now I have to discipline a rebellious slave. Maybe I should dump you down in the sties again for a couple of days. Show you the difference between a master who deserves your love and affection and the life you could have.”

Dean’s head started shaking back and forth, as tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes, dampening his blindfold. Everything he’d been through, all the humiliation and pain, all for nothing. Dean bit back the sobs that threatened. He wasn’t sure he could do this, take this anymore, staring into the eyes of defeat.

Sam spoke to Roman, “Sorry about this sir. I don’t want to bother you any further tonight than I already have. I’m good, no harm was done, and I’ll see he’s appropriately punished.” 

“Well that’s good to hear Sam, but since you’ve got me out of bed anyway I want to stay for the good part, see how you deal with the boy. I’d kind of like to see what it takes to discipline a hunter. You guards are dismissed, but keep an eye out on the grid. Dean’s a tricky one. You never know what else he might have up his sleeve.” 

Dean could hear the bodyguards filing out. When Sam’s hand landed heavily on Dean’s shoulder, he realized he had started to rock back and forth helplessly, his brother’s touch eliciting a sharp moan of fear from him.

“Very well then, sir.”

“Go to it Sam. I want to see how a future titan of RRE takes care of business.”

: : :

Sam cursed Roman to hell and back as he was forced to drag Dean choking and crawling out the door of the bedroom into the main office. Dean started to tremble when they didn't stop at the relative safety of his cage, but continued on through another door to the playroom. 

Sam shut his eyes briefly in shame as he remembered the ‘fun times’ he had enjoyed in the playroom at Dean’s expense. His brother’s exquisite cries of pain as Sam had cut into his flesh, the feel of the paddle impacting on juddering flesh, or the humiliation of milking his brother as he knelt in the stocks. And he had enjoyed it all. Ashamed as he’d never been before in his life, Sam swallowed and forced his game face on. He had to do this, he had to play this role. If he did it right he could make things better for Dean than Roman would. He needed to control the situation. Sam took some small measure of comfort in the fact that he hadn’t taken Dean to the playroom very often. Not because Sam hadn’t wanted to, but his busy schedule had prevented more ‘quality time’ with his slave. At least Sam could be grateful for that. 

Inside the playroom was a horror house full of appliances and devices, all intent on one purpose – making Dean hurt. Sam threw Dean down on a padded bench and Dean’s breath was punched out of him by the force of the landing. Sam knew he had to make it look good for Roman, whose reptilian gaze missed nothing. He kicked his brother’s feet apart and started to manacle his ankles in place. Sam was proud of Dean that only a small whimper escaped his brother’s lips as the cold steel locked around his flesh, not even the soft padded cuffs of Sam’s normal routine. His brother was so incredibly brave, he had to know that Sam, this thing that used to be his brother, was only intent on pain, Sam felt his face reddening with shame and he hoped Roman thought it was from exertion. Once Dean’s legs were secured, he undid the cuffs on Dean’s hands. 

: : :

Dean had been passively going along with his master. Every inch the obedient beaten slave as he tried to deal with his stunning failure. Disappointment lay bitter on his tongue but as Sam flung him down onto the punishment bench he realized he couldn’t take this. He couldn’t let Sammy just beat him like a dog. He had to do something. With the blindfold still on, he couldn’t see, but it didn’t stop him from taking a swing at Sam with his free fist. 

He connected briefly but the blow was poorly angled and only glanced off his brother’s chin. He could hear Roman laughing in the background. Dean felt teeth and flesh as they impacted on his knuckles but they only slid off, doing minimal damage. Sam snarled in anger and straddled the bench, clamping his legs around Dean’s chest and pinning one arm against his body as he used both hands to slam Dean’s remaining hand into the manacle above his head. When that hand was trapped in steel, he wrestled Dean until he had the other one clamped down as well, and Dean was helpless again. He was left kneeling along the bench, chest down with his arms chained above his head, his ankles to the floor beneath. He could barely wriggle, let alone slide off the padded surface.

“Have’ta pay for that, baby boy.” Sam whispered in his ear in warning.

Dean howled in rage and disappointment and couldn’t stop the words that came rushing from his lips, didn’t care anymore. “Fuck you, Sam!” he screamed.

Roman’s barking laugh filled the room, “Ha, ha, ha, that’s more like the hunter I was expecting, not the passive toy you’ve had trailing around behind you. Always full of surprises, you hunters, good at playing possum, pretending to be broken. I think you’ll have to fix that Sam. Can’t have an unbroken slave with access to all our corporate secrets. And, not that I’m interfering or anything, but who exactly helped him pull off a power surge like that? Must have been a powerful spell. We’re going to need to know Sam, just to plug the hole in security. I need names, son.”

Dean started to shake his head in rebellion, no, no, no. He was not going to betray Bobby. He couldn’t. Fuck Roman and all the other blood suckers. Dean may have failed tonight but he would die before he saw Bobby hurt because of his failure.

: : :

Sam could barely force himself to stand there and watch as Roman tore down the last shreds of Dean’s defiance. To distract himself he strode over to the toy cabinet and tried to figure out what device he could use that would cause his brother the least pain. He flung open the doors and surveyed the assortment of implements, unable to turn back until he had schooled his expression from angry to bordering on borded. 

Chained and helpless behind him, Dean was still fighting; spitting and snarling at Roman’s quips. Sam’s heart swelled in both awe and fear of his brother’s courage. He was picking through some lighter weight floggers when Roman’s overly bright voice was at Sam’s shoulder saying, “If I may? This would be my choice, but of course it’s up to you.” 

Sam knew an order when he heard one. He squelched the spike of fear as he picked up Roman’s chosen tool of punishment. If Sam didn’t do his best and pull his strikes with this he might end up killing his brother before the night was through.

: : :

Ears perked, Dean lay there trying to control the shudder of fear that ran through him as he wondered what ‘toy’ Roman had suggested. He didn’t have to wait long before he felt the hard springy test whack of the cane across his back, and he wanted to groan out loud.

“Now Dean,” Roman’s voice sounded so very calm and reasonable, not at all like someone who was about to order someone beaten within an inch of their life. “I want you to count. Thirty strokes, I think, but every time I don’t hear you counting, your brother will bring you back to zero. I think this should help you remember your place. I want to know who helped you. You didn’t come up with that spell on your own. That’s not a Winchester _modus operandi._ I smell someone else’s interference here, son. You could always just tell me now and maybe it will lessen your sentence, but otherwise the hits keep coming.” Roman trailed his hand across Dean’s arm, while Sam bounced the cane, flexing it playfully across Dean’s back. Dean felt bile rise up in his throat.

“Who helped you, Dean?” _Whack!_ The first blow landed, and Dean’s body lunged forward in a vain attempt to avoid the pain. 

“Fuck you, Roman!” Dean’s voice was slightly breathless from the first blow, but he couldn’t just throw Bobby under the bus. Who knew what Sam might do to the old hunter?

“Who helped you, Dean? Oh and you’re not counting. If you don’t count we stay at zero. You better think about your options Dean, you’ll run out of them soon enough.”

Dean resisted the urge to tell Dick where to go, again. He knew from bitter experience that soon, he wouldn’t have the strength or energy to yell. He needed to conserve his energy.

Sam spaced the first five strokes evenly across Dean’s back and Dean was panting with pain by the time his brother stopped and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Who helped you Dean? This is getting old fast. You know I know, so just tell me.” Dean bit his lip when Sam ran his fingers across the cane marks, lighting Dean’s back on fire.

At ten strokes Dean was seriously rethinking his strategy. His whole body was shaking and he couldn’t see taking another thirty and holding out. 

“Who helped you, Dean?” Sam’s voice was an earnest whisper in his ear, his hand gentle on Dean’s yet unmarked shoulder. The voice soft and caring like old Sam’s would have been. Even knowing it was an act, it did something to Dean and he found himself softening, wanting to obey his brother. He shook his head violently trying to shake off the urge. He couldn’t get over the ways Sam could mess with his head. His good cop gentleness seemed almost sincere, compared to Roman’s bad cop. Dean tried to calculate how much he could lose, and how soon. He was thinking ahead of the thirty strokes he hadn’t even counted out yet, and his back was on fire. He decided it was time for a tactful retreat.

“One.” Dean ground out between teeth gritted. He was glad the blindfold hid his eyes from his brother.

“Oh so that’s how you’re going to play it? But just so you know, if we get to thirty without you telling us who helped you, we start back again.” the smirk in Dick’s voice had Dean biting back harsh words that would only lead to more pain.

_Whack_ , another stroke of the cane and Dean was arching back in agony. Another, and another fell, and Sam was varying the pace. Sometimes Dean barely had enough time to huff out the number before the cane fell again. Other times he lay there cringing in dread waiting as minutes ticked by before Sam let the next stroke fall. He could feel blood trickling down his back and he whined, “Sam, Sammy, please.”

Sam grabbed his head and pulled it painfully back until Dean's spine creaked ominously. “You don't get to call me that. It’s master or sir. Now who helped you?”

“Fourteen,” Dean growled defiantly. He twisted his wrists in their chains and could feel the blood ringing the inside of the unpadded cuff from his struggles. His ankles were slick with blood as well.

“Stubborn little thing, now isn’t he?” Roman laughed.

“Almost half way there, you’ll have to make a decision soon, Dean. I don’t think you can last for another thirty.” And Sam, damn his eyes, was right. Dean could feel himself sweating and shivering as shock and the strain of the earlier blood loss set in. He licked his lips and whispered, “fifteen.”

“Not so defiant now are you, Dean?” Roman simpered. The cane continued to fall, Sam working his way down Dean’s back and across the cheeks of his ass, raised welts and blood everywhere, and Dean couldn’t believe how naïve he was to think this would work. He swallowed and barely kept up with Sam’s count. He felt the room twist around him and he knew he was close to passing out. But he also knew Sam would continue to beat him, even if he was unconscious. It wasn't like he hadn’t done it before.

“Twenty-seven,” Dean’s voice was a mere croak. His lips were gnawed and raw from biting on them and he felt blood trailing down the crack of his ass.

“Decision time, baby. We’re almost out of time. Tell him what he wants to know. You know I know the answer, but he wants to hear it from you. Stop this.” Sam crooned soothingly and Dean felt himself breaking all over again. He wanting to curl into that soft voice and do what it said, hide behind Sam’s questionable mercy.

Dean turned his head and closed his eyes in defeat behind the blindfold. He sobbed out the name. 

“I didn’t hear you Dean.” Roman shouted in the suddenly quiet room.

Dean could feel Sam crouching beside him gently pushing this sweat laced hair back from his brow, “That’s it, it’s over, say it again, baby. He didn't hear you,” Sam said soothingly.

“Bobby, it was Bobby, Sam, Bobby.”

“Ha, I thought so, that old coot has figured largely on both your profiles. So, Dean, have you learned your lesson here?” Roman asked thoughtfully. “I don’t want to have to do this all over again next month.” The cane struck again and Dean rushed to say the number before in his pain he forgot.

"Twenty-eight. Yes Master! Master, please. I’ve learned my lesson.”

_Whack!_ “Twenty-nine,” Dean’s raw scream was torn from him as Sam sliced vertically up his spine with the cane, lighting up all the previous welts.

“Mmm good boy,” Sam hummed in approval. 

“Yes, Very good Dean, you’re learning. Too bad about Bobby though, we’ll have to deal with him now.” Roman crooned.

_Whack!_ Dean barely had enough brain power left to remember to cry out, “Thirty,” before he was pleading, groveling, “Please master, please, don’t hurt Bobby, this was all my fault, please sir.”

Dean’s voice trailed off no breath left, his chest wheezing and trembling. Not only had he failed tonight, but he’d betrayed his best friend, the only person who’d been able to help him try to save Sam. Dean swallowed trying to choke back the sobs that poured from his mouth. He’d failed utterly, miserably, and now Bobby might die. Bobby could die and Dean was to blame. The futility of his situation pressed down upon him. He was here trapped in The Raiser’s Den with his sadistic, psychopathic brother and could do nothing to protect the ones he loved. What an absolute fool he’d been. 

He heard the cane rattle to the floor and Sam was over at the cabinet again, and Dean prayed he didn’t bring back another device. He was blacking out, consciousness fading, and Sam was behind him. He felt his brother working an oversized plug into his ass, and Dean cried out in pain. “Oh God.” Even with lube, the thing was just too big, and Dean was scrabbling forward, getting nowhere, chained as he was. All he could do was mumble brokenly, “No, not Bobby, please, not Bobby,” as hurt radiated off him in waves.

When the thing was finally fully seated inside him, Sam patted his striped back gently and brushed his hand across Dean’s butt. Dean could feel something soft and fluffy and realized in despair that Sam hadn’t just put a plug up his ass, but one with a fluffy dog tail attached. “Good boy, but you’re on punishment, Dean, until I say otherwise.”

: : :

Sam knew from the look on Roman’s face when the caning had ended earlier than Dick had hoped, that he had to do something before his boss took Dean’s punishment into his own hands. Roman was out for blood or total humiliation or both. He hoped the doggie-tail plug would accomplish that. He looked over at Roman as he finished working it into Dean’s striped and bleeding ass, and by the malicious gleam in Roman’s eyes when he heard Dean bite back a moan of pain, Sam knew he’d done the best he could by his brother.

“Well, I think we’re good here Sam. Nice job. Good to see you can handle your brother so well. I had my doubts at first, but you’ve more than proven you’ve got the right stuff. I’ll leave it to you to take care of this Bobby character. I want nothing left of him to jeopardize our little operation, and his file shows he's had a bad record of showing up where he is least wanted. I can trust you to look after this, right Sam? I want a full report.”

“Yes sir. I’ll look after him. Now that this distasteful business is done, care to join me for a nightcap?” At Roman’s slight nod, Sam continued gesturing toward the door. “I just have to tidy things up here and I’ll be right out.” Sam was going to hunt Bobby down alright, but not the way Roman wanted him to.

Sam could almost feel the waves of humiliation radiating off his brother as he crouched down beside him. He couldn’t say anything to give the game away, he knew Roman would be reviewing the tapes later, enjoying the show all over again. All he could hope for was to make his touch gentle when he patted Dean’s ass again and whispered, “Good boy. We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

: : :

Inside the darkness of the blindfold he heard the soft footfalls as his brother and Roman walked to the door. He just barely made out the flick of the light switch and the soft snick as the door swung shut. He was left there, chained and bleeding and alone. His thoughts circled each other like vicious dogs full of biting disappointment and he thought of his father and how sad he’d be at Dean’s blunder. And why shouldn’t he be? It was Dean’s job to keep Sam safe.

Dean whispered out into the darkness. “I’m sorry Dad. God, I’m so sorry.” And passed out.

: : :

Sam had lain awake for a good portion of the night as one horror after another from the last four years revisited him. It took a major force of will to stop punishing himself and concentrate on the here and now to try to figure out a way to keep Dean safe for the next two weeks until the investors’ meeting. 

He finally settled on a course of action. He knew Dean wouldn’t be happy about it, but Sam steeled himself to accept that. His plan would keep Dean safe with minimal damage, but with more than enough humiliation to satisfy Roman. The next morning found him wrestling Dean’s hand into a long glove as Dean tried weakly to struggle. As his brother came fully awake, Sam saw him realize that this was the second glove he was being forced into. The first was already snug in place. 

Sam felt like a bastard as he worked the second glove up Dean’s arm. But he had to get used to the fact that every time he touched his brother now, some new horror-filled flash of memory leapt to mind. He remembered the sound of the whip hitting Dean's back, the cries of pain, the pleas, and tears that trickled down Dean's face as he taunted him with his powerlessness. The smell of his blood as it oozed from the welts on his back, and the taste of it as he licked that off. Sam twisted his face away, sickened by his actions. No, this wasn’t the first time he’d abused his brother. He tried to keep the end game firmly in mind. At least this time, there was a purpose to what he did. 

Sam finished with the second glove, already having carefully folded his brother’s fingers down under his knuckles to hold them immobile. He just needed to tighten the laces. Sam let go of the second hand as he completed his task but Dean’s sudden struggle at the same time caused his brother to slide off the bench. He screamed as he landed on his back, every stroke from last night lighting up. 

Dean flailed like a turtle, trying to twist onto his side but everything hurt, the plug and tail in his ass pushed up awkwardly and painfully inside him. Sam reached down and calmly snapped a leash on his collar and, grabbing Dean by it, he hauled him gently over onto his belly. He reluctantly unbuckled Dean’s blindfold, and was thankful for the short reprieve of looking his brother in the face when Dean stared resolutely down at the floor in front of him panting and shaking. A cowardly part of Sam wanted to keep Dean blindfolded for the duration of his mission so he wouldn’t see the pain and hopelessness in his brother’s face, but he had to make things seem as normal as possible.

Sam steeled himself for the jolt of shame that ran through him as he continued the macabre charade and clucked his tongue, whistling, “Come on, boy,” like Dean was a dog. Dean blinked up into the sunlit room looking bewildered at Sam. “Come on, boy. I’ve decided if you’re going to behave like a bad puppy, I’ll have to treat you like a bad puppy. Until you learn your place, Dean. You’ll have to prove yourself to me all over again to lose the tail.”

Dean looked down, and Sam could almost see the wheels in his brother's head grinding into motion as he suddenly made sense of it all. Dean took another look at the gloves Sam had laced him into, they were paws, puppy paws, and Dean wouldn’t be able to use his hands again until Sam let him out of them.

Dean looked up at Sam in shock, “Master.”

Sam reacted before he could stop himself and slapped Dean lightly across his face, more humiliating than painful. “Na-uh, good doggies don’t talk. Not another word till I tell you you can, Dean.”

“You’ve got to be fucking…” 

_Whack!_

Sam landed the leash across Dean’s burning back and he flinched as his brother cried out again in pain.

“What did I say? Not another word. Understand?”

Dean nodded, trying to get his breath back. Sam tugged on the leash and brought his brother into the other room. He knew Dean must be feeling sore and gross; blood was still caked and dried in patches on his back and aggravated the stripes left by the cane. He moaned as he crawled behind Sam, and kept glancing back at his ass end, the feel of the tail brushing against his hind cheeks, unsettling. Dean was shaking with exhaustion by the time they stopped at Sam’s desk. 

Sam knew Dean was staring. Sitting on the floor beside Sam’s desk were his normal two bowls one with water and one with food but now the second had what looked like hard kibble. Sam was sure Dean was thinking that this could easily be real dog food.

Dean looked up at Sam disbelieving, and it took everything in Sam to smile as he gestured benevolently, “Go ahead, eat, boy. You must be hungry.”

: : :

Dean watched his brother’s face, the strange grimace of distaste that flitted across it, almost like he was sorry for what he was doing, but it didn’t stop him. Nothing stopped Sam, Dean realized in growing despair. 

Dean wanted to let his head fall to the floor and disappear, devastated by the failure of the spell. Instead, like the good slave he was fast becoming, he gritted his teeth and leaned down carefully to lap some of the cool, clear water out of the bowl. The liquid on his parched tongue felt like heaven, and he didn’t want to stop drinking.

He felt a tug on his leash. “Hey, not too much, Dean. I want you to take these and I’ll get you more, but take it easy. I don’t want you to be sick.” Sam’s hand held three tablets to Dean’s mouth. Dean looked quickly up at his brother, and those sad tip-tilted eyes stared down at him. Dean nodded obediently, the pink tip of his tongue darting out as he used it to pick each pill from his brother’s warm hand. When they were all in his mouth, he lapped up more of the water to swallow them down. He could only hope the pills were painkillers. If his brother wanted him dead, he would be.

“Good boy,” Sam’s voice was almost a whisper, and he squeezed Dean’s shoulder, his face serious but sad. Then in his more normal tone he said, “Okay, we’ve got to go to work soon, and you need to eat.” Dean looked up at Sam hopelessly. He didn’t want to go back to the vault, he didn’t want to see those souls imprisoned there, and he certainly didn’t want to go there as Sam’s dog. He saw nothing in Sam’s eyes to even indicate there was any feeling there at all, so he closed his eyes and dipped his head to the kibble bowl and began to eat. Sam’s hand was at Dean’s head, softly carding through the short spiky hair. It should have made Dean gag, but somehow Sam’s touch calmed him and made eating the dog food almost bearable.

Dean had just taken his third mouthful of the dry kibble when a knock sounded at the door.

Sam’s hand stilled in its combing and he yelled out, “Come.” And Dick Roman breezed into Sam’s office.

“Hey Sam, chop, chop, I don’t want you late for our first meeting. We’ve got a big board meeting coming up. I want you to attend too, and I need you to start organizing a very special investors’ meeting for me.”

Roman’s eyes gazed round the room and landed on Sam crouching calmly beside Dean, who was on all fours, striped bloody from the cane, trying to keep his gaze down.

“And how is our little problem, here?”

“No problem, sir, nothing a little discipline won’t cure. Dean has been a bad dog, and he’ll be treated like one until he learns to better behave himself.”

“Oh, a little bestiality action. I like that, Sam. The more I get to know you, the better I like you.” Dean peeked a look at Roman and the grin pasted across his face caused him to shiver. Sam hushed him and resumed rubbing his hand over Dean’s neck, nudging his face towards the kibble bowl. Dean took the not so subtle hint and took another dutiful mouthful.

Sam chuckled darkly. “I’ll be right down. Once Dean is fed and watered, we’ll be on our way.”

: : :

Another humiliation awaited Dean after breakfast when Sam led him crawling into the bathroom. Dean started to stand to pee, but Sam pushed him back and said, “Na’ah, Dean, bad doggies don’t get to use the toilet, into the shower to do your business. Do you need to shit or just piss? Tap your paw once or twice.” 

Dean stared at Sam dumbstruck until he realized his brother was being completely serious. He swallowed and tapped his paw once. Mercifully all he had to do right now was piss. Sam helped him into the shower stall and said, “Hold your paws up for Daddy, Dean, don’t want the leather getting wet on your paws.” After he was done, still kneeling in remnants of his own piss, Sam leaned down and grabbed hold of Dean’s tail. With a determined tug, he pulled it from Dean’s ass. 

He could almost feel his hole gaping at the lack. It was a strange feeling after being so full; he felt like he’d never be able to close his asshole again. Dean knelt up trying not to think. Trying to go very far away.

Sam poured a generous amount of liquid soap across Dean’s back, and Dean hissed as the detergent made contact with his wounds, then Sam started the water. Sam picked up the spray nozzle. He let it come to temperature and tested it before he began to spray Dean off. After the crusted blood was loosened by the warm water and washed away, Sam brought out a soft cloth and, more gently than Dean expected, he sudsed him up, cleaning him everywhere. 

When they got out of the shower, Sam patted him off with a blessedly soft towel. Dean knelt on all fours on a soft bath mat on the washroom floor. Sam wasn’t rubbing, just blotting across Dean’s scored back, but Dean whimpered in spite of himself. 

“I know it hurts, just hang in there, you can sleep once we get to my new office.” Sam left Dean wrapped in the towel taking the tail with him. When he returned, Dean swore it was with a more normally proportioned plug screwed into the end of the fluffy blond tail. He lubed it up swiftly and Dean only whimpered a little as his brother pushed it back inside him.

Dean blinked up at Sam, weary now from all the shocks of the morning and surprised over and over at Sam’s actions. This was the same man who beat him bloody last night. Now instead of rough and cruel, in a strange way, he was treating Dean like he was made of spun glass. Dean shivered and butted his head into the towel Sam was rubbing over his head. “Hey there, hush Dean, calm down, take it easy, we’ll get you dry. Good boy.” Before leaving the office apartment Sam strapped knee pads on Dean. Dean was again surprised, there were so many worse ways this could go.

By the time Dean crawled his way to Sam’s office in the Vault he was exhausted and hurting and more than a little grateful for the knee pads. The pain killers Sam had slipped him were starting to kick in. Suddenly rather than cold hard floor, a second copy of the large overstuffed pillow from the apartment was in place on the floor beside Sam’s new desk. It even seemed like the office was a bit warmer than normal, but maybe that was just the burn of Dean’s cuts. Sam attached Dean’s leash to the bolt on his desk, and Dean let himself fold down onto the soft velvety folds. He felt a sense of resigned acceptance as he curled on his pillow, floating on the knowledge that he failed, and there was no escape, that this is what he was now, would be till Sammy tired of him, his toy, his plaything to abuse as desired. He was asleep before Sam was seated in his new chair.

: : :

A soft broken moan as Dean slept had Sam glancing down over from the stack of delivery orders and stock levels he was analyzing. He stared thoughtfully at his brother, who had been twitching and struggling in his sleep. With that one cry Dean lay suddenly so silent Sam panicked and reached out to touch, to reassure himself of the continued rise and fall of Dean’s chest. 

It was as if even in his sleep, his brother was giving up. Sam scrubbed his eyes tiredly to hide the fact he was wiping tears away. So this was how you broke the one you loved? Apply steady and brutal pressure, take away everything they loved and trusted, and then remove that last bit of hope, and presto! you turned your brother into a shell of the man he used to be. 

Sam swore softly at the memories looking at his brother evoked now, of all he had done. The pained moan as Dean’s flesh parted for his cock, lips splitting under a slap, watching his brother struggle to hold position long after normal spirit and muscle failed. His brother’s face twisting in agony as the brand burnt deep into the flesh of his hip. The scent of burnt flesh and the surge of arousal that had run dark and deep through Sam as he and their father drank in his brother’s pain. Through it all, though, Dean had fought. It was only today, after realizing he had failed to cure Sam, that the final straw had broken, and Sam watched as the fire of hope in his brother’s eyes had slowly dulled. This is what he had done. Dad would be so proud. 

: : :

_“Before you go in there guns blazin’ I think there’s some things you should know about the Raiser’s Den, Dean.” Bobby’s voice was laced with worry as he paced across the kitchen. Dean continued to scarf down Bobby’s bacon and eggs, sopping his toast through the last bits of yolk puddled on the plate. “Are you listening to me? Because this is important.” Bobby seemed a little more exasperated with Dean than normal, so Dean nodded and said “Yeah sure, I’m here, all ears Bobby.”_

_Bobby snorted but continued, “I’m not sure what’s going on in The Den but there is some serious money backing it. It’s a wholly owned subsidiary of RRE, Richard Roman Enterprises, the corporation owned and run by its namesake,_ [ _Dick Roman_ ](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Dick_Roman) _. RRE is involved in many different markets, like real estate and the food industry, and it owns several subsidiaries. I don’t have a clue why a multimillionaire like Dick Roman would be interested in owning a whorehouse run by monsters. Maybe he doesn’t know, maybe someone tricked him, but then the trail went cold and I couldn’t find anything else out about him or his activities. Hell, he may own a whole chain of monster whorehouses. I was lucky to find out this much. It was really just a fluke I found it; it was covered up pretty good. Everything else the man owns seems on the up and up. But this is just strange.”_

_“I just don’t want you going in there blind, Dean. Maybe he is involved, and people with money are dangerous. All I know is, if you run into Dick Roman, run in the other direction.”_

: : :

“This could be huge, Sam, for both of us. I don’t think I’m being immodest in saying I think I’ve got lightning in a bottle here, a proven gold mine. So I’m planning a huge expansion and this event will bring in all the new potential investors I need to make this project succeed. I’ll be counting on you to bring it all home, son. You’ll be in charge of it all, the right transportation, entertainment, food – it’s all in your hands, Sam. Take what you need. It’s happening in two weeks. I want everything to be perfect. And we’ll have an interim board of directors meeting to see how you’re doing in a week. All right?”

Dean gazed up from his pillow long enough to see Roman’s glassy eyes staring at Sam.

Sam nodded and said, “No problem, sir. We’ll get it done.”

“You can have anyone you want to help you, anything you want to make it happen. Money’s no object, Sam, but I want results. You understand results don’t you, Sam?”

Sam nodded again, “Umm, yeah, not going to be a problem.”

“Right answer, Sam!” Roman roared.

Dean floated in and out of the conversation after that. What was another demon get-together in the big scheme of things when he couldn't even go to the bathroom by himself these days? Dean felt himself closing down, he didn’t have the energy to care anymore, it was safer to just exist, no hope, no disappointment. He shut his eyes in pain and misery.

: : :

 


	6. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

Sam’s finger shoved roughly into Dean’s hole testing how much lube was left. “Oh puppy, kind of dry, we’ll fix that right up.” Dean heard the snick of the bottle behind him as he knelt on all fours on Sam’s bed. He could hear Sam slicking himself up and then Sam’s long lubed finger was driving back into Dean’s hole rubbing gently until it hit that spot. Dean whined and leaned back into Sam’s hand as he felt the soft brush of Sam’s fingers over his prostate. 

Sam had never bothered much with making it good for Dean. But maybe puppy Dean was different. Maybe if he was good enough and quiet enough Sam would love him and look after him. Dean looked back over his shoulder hopefully. He winced as the movement pulled on the healing marks crisscrossing his back.

Dean knew he should be wondering why Sam was suddenly taking any time at all to arouse him but instead he just went with the moment. These days locked in the dog paws had given Dean a startling clarity about the basics of life. Food, water, pleasure, pain. There wasn’t much more than that, and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care as Sam’s broad fingers continued to brush gently across Dean’s gland. That was as good as it got for Dean. It wasn’t love, but it started to feel close when there was nothing else on tap. 

Dean was rocking back onto Sam’s fingers in earnest now while Sam’s other hand caressed his hip, trailing around to tug gently on the rings in his nipples until they were erect. Sam licked along Dean’s spine, and Dean shivered at the sensation, his cock fattening in arousal beneath him. Sam’s wide wet tongue crossed the nearly healed marks on his back and Dean couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of the beating. He whined desperately as he felt the unbidden spike of want coil through him.

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll get you there.” Sam inserted another finger and gently scissored Dean open until he was slick and loose and Sam’s hand only occasionally brushed against his gland now. Dean mewled in protest but they’d both rather Dean come with Sam inside him.

“Gotta wait for me, baby, gotta get you ready first, then you’ll have your turn.”

Finally when Dean’s cock was fully erect and drooling, Sam pulled his fingers from his entrance with a wet squelch. Dean sighed as Sam’s thick slick shaft took their place, his brother sliding home with only a little resistance, until his balls slapped heavily against Dean’s sack. He heard Sam huff out a breath and he paused. Dean wiggled against him wantonly and Sam laughed against Dean’s back. “Right, right, toppy little bottom, aren’t you?” And it was almost like Sam cared?

Dean whined, too scared to talk, but the tone of Sam’s voice was tender and it surprised Dean. Then that thought was swept aside as Sam pulled out almost to the tip and started to pump back in and out of his brother. Dean whimpered and struggled to keep his place kneeling on the bed, the puppy paws not providing much traction. Dean dropped his head and braced as best he could as Sam set up a pounding pace. He could hear Sam’s breath catch, and he angled his thrusts just right to start brushing down across Dean’s prostate again. Dean whimpered and could feel his neglected cock swinging hot and heavy beneath him. 

He knew Sam was almost there and Dean hoped he would be allowed to come; then that increasingly less rare thing happened. Sam was reaching forward, his large hand grasping Dean’s throbbing cock and stroking him. Sam’s voice was a wrecked growl in his ear as he whispered, “Come for me Dean.” And one, two, three more quick stripes and Dean was coming, covering Sam’s hand and shooting ropey trails up over his chest. He flung his head back in pleasure and clenched down. He felt Sam give it up as well, releasing deep inside him. They hovered there a moment before collapsing onto the bed. Dean was just beginning to get uncomfortable with Sam’s weight blanketing him when his brother shifted and Dean found himself on his side being spooned against Sam’s chest. Sam’s hand reached over and rubbed softly over Dean’s come covered belly. Dean could feel it starting to go cold and tacky in his pubes but he was too fucked out to care. 

Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean on the nape of the neck, and Dean felt replete. He curled his gloved paws up to his chest and fell asleep in his master’s arms, feeling strangely cared for and cherished. Somehow, Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care that these feelings were wrong. 

: : :

_His father leaned down over his shoulder and watched hungrily as Sam forced the tip of the sound into Dean’s reluctant flesh. He heard his brother whimper in dread and pain as the cool metal and lube moved inside his flesh. Watched as a terrified Dean strained to hold perfectly still. Sam slid the sound home and rolled his brother over onto his knees. Dean knew what was coming next. He heard his father’s dark chuckle and the click of a lube bottle as he slicked himself up. Sam tugged at his own zipper, his dick hard and leaking in his jeans and licked his lips in anticipation._

Sam’s eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed with a jerk, barely was able to claw back a cry of horror, still in the stranglehold of the dream. He looked wildly around the room; his gaze fell on his brother, lying naked and bound beside him, and realization dawned that it wasn’t a dream at all. He flung himself out of the bed and stalked to the bathroom. 

It barely registered on Sam in time to remember the cameras following his every movement. All he wanted to do was drop to his knees and throw up in the toilet and howl. Instead he grabbed up his toothbrush and lowered his head toward the sink. With his arms curled loosely around the basin and his hair dropped down to cover his face and the water running, Sam allowed a few scalding tears to trickle down his face, while muffling any possible sounds with noisy brushing, swishing, and spitting. Before standing, he dashed water on his face, giving him the excuse to scrub tears as well as water away with a towel. 

Roman’s ears and eyes were everywhere. He didn't even dare bring Dean into the bathroom during a shower and speak privately to him, to let him know he’d succeeded in releasing Sam from the spell. There wasn't anything he could risk, even to stop the downward spiral he’d seen his brother taking. 

Sam knew Roman had the latest tech spy equipment, not just in his suite, but everywhere. The man was a smart if completely unethical businessman, and collecting the secrets from visitors to the Den and blackmailing them afterward was just another revenue stream to Roman. Sam had seen the paperwork. More than once Sam had heard the faint whir of a camera refocusing on him as he moved around the apartment. 

He was flooded with conflicting emotions he could barely recognize or identify, but he wiped all evidence of them from his face as he stood. He could barely meet his own eyes in the mirror, but he grimaced and inspected his teeth, in his head snarling at Merle, or one of Dick's many minions Sam imagined watching behind the two-way mirror. More like someone watching the feed of the camera behind the mirror. He had to keep control of himself; Dean's life depended on it. One hand fisted tight in the towel, Sam turned sideways and, giving any watchers a show, stroked an evaluating hand down his concave belly before flinging the towel at the bar and returning to the bedroom. Dean shivered as he slipped between the sheets, his body unconsciously tensing, even in his sleep, as Sam came close. 

Sam gazed down at the scars and bruises desecrating Dean’s too thin body, and he couldn’t help but pull his brother’s sleeping body close, his arm curling protectively around Dean’s belly. With his head rested in the crook of Dean’s neck, he allowed himself to breathe in the comforting scent of his brother, still somehow smelling of leather and gun oil and something distinctly Dean. Sam lay there in the dark, holding his brother, hoping that clean bright scent could keep the horror of his dreams away. 

: : :

Sam had been working all hours the last few days. Demons flowed in and out of the office continually, and Dean couldn’t keep track of it all; didn’t try. Maybe old Dean would have, but old Dean would have been beaten for his trouble. New Dean was a good boy and was good for Sammy. But even though he tried to be good for Sam and not question anything, Dean didn’t like the Vault office. There was no sun, and Dean was constantly cold, even though he suspected from the sweat beading his brother’s brow that Sam had turned up the heat. Dean shivered and burrowed into his plush pillow. It didn’t do much good. He wondered how the blood donors in their rows and rows of racks survived at all at this temperature. It was like a wine cellar, slightly damp and chill all the time. Dean snuffled and tucked his nose inside his folded arms to warm it up. Sam hadn’t let Dean out of the paws and tail yet but Dean was hopeful. If nothing else he thought his brother would grow bored of the routine. 

On the plus side, the demons didn’t even give him a second glance now, which made it feel more like a disguise than a punishment. Dean felt strangely safe, like only Sam could see him and Sam was… Dean didn’t know what Sam was, maybe some small part of the spell worked because, although Sam wasn’t himself, he wasn’t the cruel evil bastard to Dean that he had been. It made it almost bearable now, in comparison with the things Sam used to do to him. Dean could feel his cock thicken just at the thought. It was poor timing as Sam looked down over the side of the desk and laughed softly as he saw Dean’s hardening cock.

“Hmm, time for a break I think, Dean. Okay, on the sofa.” Sam unclipped Dean’s leash from the desk, and Dean crawled quickly over to the sofa in the corner in the office. Dean stood and took a minute to stretch before Sam caught up with him, slapping him sharply on the ass. 

“Position, bitch.” But there was a smile in Sam’s voice, and Dean found himself warmed by the tone. Sam pulled the dog tail from Dean’s ass and gently pressed a finger inside Dean’s hole to check if he was slick enough. His brother hummed in approval. Dean didn’t know why Sam wasn’t following his usual habit of keeping Dean crouched under his desk, pumping the odd load down his throat as the mood struck him. But Dean wasn’t looking a gift horse, or a generous Sam, in the mouth; because Sam always made it good now.

Sam slid into him in one long smooth stroke and paused for a moment deep inside Dean. Dean couldn’t help the whimper that left his lips, and Sam laughed softly. He grabbed Dean’s hips, the fingers of one hand going to his favorite spot – splayed possessively across Dean’s brand, and he set up a leisurely pace, swiveling his hips occasionally. Dean tried to rub up against the leather-covered arm of the sofa to get some friction against his own cock, but Sam swatted his side. Dean groaned and stilled his efforts. This was another big change in Sam’s behavior. It wasn't like Sam really cared, but not every action resulted in Dean screaming in pain or cringing in humiliation, now. Sam canted his hips, and he started to stroke in at the perfect angle, hitting Dean’s prostate every time. It was like it had a bullseye painted on it these days, and Dean moaned and wiggled. He still hadn’t worked up the nerve to speak since Sam put him on punishment. He didn’t want to break the spell they’d been acting under with each other these days.

Dean bit his lip as Sam sped up, and he was pushed forward into the arm of the sofa. His cock was touching the leather now, but only because Sam had him mashed him up against it. Technically, Dean couldn’t really help that, now could he? He almost smiled when Sam reached around, as was becoming his new custom, and his warm, slightly rough hand was on Dean’s dick, and that’s all he needed. Sam tugged on Dean’s length, rubbing over the head of his cock just right and Dean whined.

“That’s right, baby, ask permission. Beg me.” Dean whined some more and Sam nearly purred in pleasure as his efforts became wild and sloppy. He huffed out a breathy, “Come for me, Dean,” and both of them were coming together, Sam’s hand covering the end of Dean’s dick to redirect the spurts of come into his hand and toward the floor rather than ruin the leather. Dean could feel Sam’s release deep and warm inside him, and he slumped forward over the arm of the sofa, spent. With a huff Sam settled over him, his heavy weight pressing Dean down, but Dean didn’t want to complain about his brother’s warm length blanketing him. He didn’t even protest when Sam nudged his lips with his come-covered hand, and Dean started to lick him clean. 

Sam continued to rest there, his other hand rubbing soft circles on Dean’s back as his cock slowly softened. Sam was in no hurry to pull out, and Dean was surprised at how good it felt to have his brother close.

: : :

_The dream began as it always did, with Sammy and him in the Impala. They were heading down the road, on a hunt, the road lay straight before them, the sun warm and bright in the midday sky, wheels humming as they moved along. He didn't know where they were going exactly but he felt a sense of purpose as he gripped the Impala’s steering wheel. The only change this time was that Bobby was with them, the old hunter asleep in the back seat. Dean smiled to see Bobby alive and safe if only in a dream._

_Sam sat beside him in the passenger seat, staring contemplatively out the Impala’s passenger window watching the scenery pass by; mile after mile of oats dancing and rippling like waves in the ocean in the light summer breeze. His hand slowly crept over to run along Dean’s thigh. Dean wanted to jounce his leg and dislodge Sam’s hand just on principal, but he found his brother’s touch comforting. Sam had had his hands all over him for months, and Dean had come to crave his brother’s touch._

_Sammy waited expectantly for some sign of Dean’s disinterest. When nothing happened, Dean could feel his brother grow bolder. Sam’s hands began to rub gently up and down Dean’s thigh and reached over to cup Dean’s crotch. Dean moaned at the unexpected friction of the jeans against his thickening shaft, and he tried to bite back the sound. He glanced quickly in the rear view mirror, but Bobby was still asleep, slumped against the passenger side door, his battered ball cap pulled down over his face. Dean glanced over at Sam who paused, his eyes glued on Dean, waiting for his approval._

_Dean nodded and Sam began to rub his hand over the forming bulge in Dean’s pants. Dean leaned his head back into the headrest and closed his eyes briefly at the sensation. Bobby snorted and moved in his sleep, and Dean’s eyes snapped open guiltily. He fumbled with the radio and settled on a soft rock station, setting the volume to low, as Sam continued his furtive stroking. Eventually Sam reached a second hand over and eased Dean’s zipper down and undid the top button of his pants so he could take Dean’s straining cock in his hand._

_Dean swallowed as he watched Sam lick a stripe down the palm of his hand, Sam’s fox-tilted eyes not leaving Dean’s as he did it, a dark smoldering look in their hazel depths. He started to jack Dean slowly and Dean had to remind himself to keep quiet. He bit his swollen lips repeatedly, feeling like a teenager sneaking a grope with his latest high school date while his dad was still in the other room. Sam’s hands, though, were not those of an inexperienced teenage girl, they swept knowingly along Dean’s length, thumb rubbing into Dean’s slit. Dean couldn’t help the low groan that escaped. Sam gathered some of the precome leaking from Dean’s dick and rubbed under the sensitive head and down the shaft. Dean tossed his head at the increasing sensation. Sam’s hand left him briefly to delve deeper down into his jeans. Long intelligent fingers snaking around his balls to push at the plug still nestled deeply in Dean’s ass. Dean just barely bit back the whimper and wiggled down on Sam’s hand in protest, kinky bastard._

_He looked anxiously across at Sam, not wanting to beg, but unable to go further without hearing the words, and Sam licked his lips and leaned over to Dean’s ear and whispered soft and filthy in his ear, “Come for me Dean.” And that was all it took to have Dean’s cock jerking and spurting ropy jets of come over Sam’s large hands as he blew his load._

_Sam worked him through it, milking his cock of the last few drops of come. Dean was thankful they were on a desolate stretch of road and driving straight or they would have been in the ditch. Dean moaned softly and leaned his head back onto the headrest, his hands grasping the steering wheel in a death grip as he savored his release. He closed his eyes briefly, when he opened them, Sam’s hand was in front of Dean’s mouth and Dean didn't even question the impulse to obey as he licked his brother’s hand clean. Lapping up the ropey trails of his own release, swallowing down the cooling mess with relish._

: : :

Pearly white strings of come splattered across the soft new pillow in his cage, waking Dean as he came. He almost moaned, he didn’t want his master to punish him for soiling it. He leaned down quickly to lick the salty, bitter spend before it cooled. When he was done he lay back, just as a wide beam of sunlight shone in through the large apartment windows. He rolled over, lying on his nearly healed back in the cage and let the warmth bake into his skin. It was so nice to be in the light and away from the depressing rows of blood donors. Sam had left him in the cage today as he did errands, and Dean missed his master, missed being near him, his solid warmth beside him. Even the thought of Sam had his spent cock struggling to rise again. He tried to recall a time when this repelled him. When this wasn’t normal. 

Dean couldn’t remember how many days had gone by, but it must be close to a week since Dick first announced the investors meeting. Time was slipping away. Dean knew that old Dean would have been doing some serious thinking about how he was going to get the hell out of here, now that the spell hadn’t worked, but for the life of him right now he was happy just to lie in the sun and be warm. Let his brain shut down and hide.

What old Dean wouldn’t have given for a shotgun and some backup at that meeting, he’d clear the board for good. New Dean though, knew better, knew that that was just a pipe dream. Considering he couldn’t even use his hands these days, how was he going to pick his way out of the cage, let alone take down the investors? He smiled at the thought of it though, vampires’ heads flying and bodies like sacks of wet cement falling dead to the ground. It would be a great get-together. Maybe there was still a little of the old Dean left, but it would soon be gone, Sam would see to that. Dean had struggled so hard to find himself the first time he’d been freed. Now without his friends, and without hope of ever getting his brother back, he couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.

Dean was thirsty but he didn’t feel like kneeling up to get a drink from the now familiar cock shaped dispenser. His ass hurt from the heavy reaming Sam had laid on it last night, but it was a good hurt these days and he had made his master happy, so what if it wasn’t really what Dean would want on a Saturday night. Dean didn’t get to have what he wanted. That had been proven to him over and over, in case he hadn’t learned that lesson the first few times.

The memories of the previous evening made Dean feel warm inside and he wriggled his butt against the pillow, causing the plug to brush up inside him pleasurably. Instead of being sent back to his cage, Sam had even let him sleep in the bed afterward. It had been nice, the feel of the worn cotton of Sam’s t-shirt as it rubbed up against his skin, his brother’s soft huffs of breath against the back of his neck as he slept. If he was really going to be serious about escape, that would be the time to try and bust out, he mused, when Sam left him unchained on the bed. Once the paws came off that was. If they ever did, but Dean was working hard at being a good boy.  
  
It was silly really even to think about escape, he didn’t even have a plan and it certainly needed more thought; he would need a way to get farther out of the Raiser’s Den than Sam’s apartment. There were guards at every elevator door and exit. Maybe old Dean would have stolen some of Sam’s clothes and maybe his pass. Late at night, what guard would be as careful to check IDs of management coming from the penthouse? Dean wanted to giggle, it could have been that easy. If Sam left old Dean untied sleeping in the bed, just once, that could have been his ticket out of here, but new Dean was a good boy. New Dean was only worried about Sammy’s pleasure.

So why, then, did Dean have to push down the tendril of disappointment at that thought? It didn’t do any good to hope anymore, but he was sad he wouldn’t have another opportunity to try and cure Sam. Sam would be okay without it, though. Why just look at him, he'd probably be running the whole operation for Roman inside a year. Dean flinched and worked to shove the nagging guilt away, tried not to think about Bobby and what Sam might have in store for him or the look on his father’s face if he were still alive, the disappointment of not returning with his brother.

Dean stared out the window and wondered when Sam would be home. He’d been acting…strange, for want of a better word, mysterious. It was nothing Dean could put his finger on, Sam never told Dean what he was doing and discouraged any curiosity from his slave, but whatever Roman was planning seemed to require an extra amount of secrecy and effort from Sam. He came and went at all hours. Dean was just grateful Sam never left him alone chained in the vault. That was one place he didn’t want to spend any more time in than necessary. 

: : :

Sam was in hell. 

Yes he was cured, awake, after months, years, of living a life he couldn't control filled with gut wrenching guilt and remorse _–_ and he couldn't allow it to show. Four years' worth of memories like landmines booby-trapped him everywhere. He didn’t know when next his breath would be slammed out of him as some sadistic fragment from his past would come floating to the surface in high-def. 

Only this morning he had been making coffee and the image that came was his Dad's grin at breakfast as he hogtied Dean across the kitchen table and thrust into him hard and fast, the table legs shaking ominously. The conspiratorial glances he and his father would exchange as they passed Dean back and forth between them sickened Sam now. He didn’t know how Dean would ever be able to see past all the horror. He could barely touch Dean without bringing back some memory or other, and it made it difficult to handle Dean as roughly as he needed to in order keep up their cover. 

Sam sighed wearily. Every time he fucked his brother, he told himself it was to keep the cameras happy, keep Roman lulled into a false sense of security, but the terrible truth was he liked fucking Dean. Not raping his brother, but Sam had to admit the idea of overpowering and dominating Dean gave him a dark thrill. Every time he made love to Dean – raped him – Sam tried to make it good for Dean, make it good for both of them. Some of the more tender moments they had shared only hinted at how good it could have been between them, if the curse had never happened. The guilt, though, was eating Sam alive. He knew there were dark circles under his eyes and had started to actually wear makeup to cover them up. Things couldn’t come to a head soon enough.

Rationally, Sam knew that Dean was his brother and that sex between them was wrong, but he didn’t care. Sam had had a few relationships in the past, had slept with both men and women, but Dean was it for him. Not the beaten down slave he had been twisted into, but the real Dean, the one that lay buried deep inside. That was the Dean Sam wanted. All Dean needed, Sam reasoned, was some care and love and support to come back into his own, back to the fierce, smart, funny, and under the smartass exterior, the endlessly kind man Sam had grown up with, who always, always had his back. Sam shook his head futilely, this was a pipe dream, how could anything good come of all that had happened? After the Den, after everything was burned to the ground, he’d be lucky if Dean didn’t just shoot him.

Sam lay awake a long time that night, counting the strikes against him. In the morning he had no better answers except to keep moving forward and hope like hell that he could get Dean out of this mess alive.

: : :

“I’m telling you Sam, all the Board members will be bringing their pets.”

“Sharing Dean was never part of our deal, Roman. I won’t do it. He’s mine.” Sam’s voice was almost a growl as he stood toe to toe with Roman. 

Sam could sense Dean ducking his head, careful not to jar the drink sitting on his back. It was never a good thing for a slave to been caught eavesdropping by the loser of any argument. Sam sympathized and reached his hand down to soothe his brother, who shivered where he knelt on all fours by Sam’s side. Dean was Sam’s drinks table this evening. Who knew Sam would turn out to have a rope-play kink? Sam shuddered as he remembered his learning curve and his previous subjects in the last year, all the other’s he’d ‘played with’ when Dean had been out of reach. He had become quite proficient, he realized, like tonight, vivid red nylon rope bound each of Dean’s forearms, still in the puppy gloves, his palms tucked up to clasp his shoulders. Similarly, loops of rope had been cinched onto Dean’s ankles and his legs had been bent so his calves could be firmly tied to the backs of his thighs. Loop after layer of scarlet line held him in perfect place, his knees set back behind his hips to keep his back level, all his weight balanced on his elbows and his knees, like the legs of a table. 

Sam was completely aware that the longer Dean knelt there the more painful the position became, but he had appearances to maintain and this was one of his less painful options for compliance. Sam couldn’t help but wince with guilt as Dean’s dog tail telegraphed every movement as he struggled to hold perfectly still. 

At Dick’s mention of being part of the ‘entertainment’ Dean trembled slightly, and the drink Sam had set there so casually when Roman entered began to slosh in its glass. Still embroiled in the discussion with Dick, Sam’s hand reached down almost immediately and hooked around the back of Dean’s bowed neck, and he rubbed there, attempting to soothe him. He felt resigned to the curl of arousal that coiled through him at the sight of Dean kneeling trembling before him. He wanted to glance away, sickened at his own perversion, but he knew Dick’s eyes were watching him like a hawk, so he resumed petting Dean.

“He’s a slave Sam. It’s what he’s for. Besides, you don’t have to let anyone drink him. He does need to be entertaining. I can show you some footage of some more memorable board meetings I’ve been too.”

“I don’t know, he’s not some kind of a trick pony for rent.”

“Oh trust me, for these meetings he doesn’t have to be. You just have to put on a good show for the board, or you can start to rethink any further advancement in this company. But I hired a team player didn’t I, Sam?” 

: : :

Dean grunted in pleasure/pain as his cock erupted over Sam’s hand and his belly. It was the third time that night that Sam had let him come, and he was coming almost dry. Sam, still driving deep into his body, followed seconds later, spilling inside him. Dean felt full and sore, and his brother crouched above him was puffing in and out like a steam engine. He let himself collapse down onto Dean’s body, his head buried in the crook of Dean’s neck, gulping in air.

Sam seemed insatiable tonight, and it seemed Dean’s dick had no moral issues or qualms when Sam’s determined fingers wrapped around the traitorous thing. Dean didn’t know when Sam’s slightest touch had become practically a Pavlovian signal to harden. Dean just wished he could see and touch his brother, but as had been his habit lately Sam had pulled a blindfold on him as soon as he hauled him into the bedroom. 

Dean was denied the sight of all that muscled golden skin revealed as the clothes were stripped away. He could only wait in the darkness till the mattress gave under Sam’s weight, and his brother’s hand trailed wantonly over Dean’s back as he knelt there, ass in the air, ready to be mounted. He was beginning to think the paws and tail only revealed the truth of his real nature; he was becoming his brother’s bitch without Sam laying a hand on him.

Dean whimpered as Sam’s weight started to crush his breathing, and Sam perked up.

“Oh, right.” He rose up on his forearms, gently bringing Dean’s knees down from over his shoulders. Dean sighed as Sam rolled over and sprawled on the bed beside him. It would almost seem a companionable silence, if it weren’t for the blindfold, and the cuffs holding Dean’s hands chained above his head to the headboard. He wished he could talk to Sam, the way they used to when they were younger. They’d lay on their beds at night whispering conspiratorially for hours, Sam sometimes sneaking over to Dean’s bed, cuddling warm and soft into Dean’s side, Dean’s hands curled protectively around the smaller boy. The whole world was open to them then, a world of possibilities. Now Dean’s possibilities were narrowed to whether he was a table or a footstool.

“And Dean, since you’ve been such a good boy these last few days, no more tail and doggie's paws for you.” Sam’s voice was suddenly close. Then Sam’s mouth was touching Dean’s, his tongue licking in to tangle and lave over his and Dean couldn’t help but moan at the sweet taste as his brother invaded his mouth. He could feel his exhausted cock twitch between them.

Sam laughed and tweaked Dean’s nipple ring playfully. “Sorry, don’t mean to get your motor going again, that was supposed to be a good night kiss. Sleep, baby, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

Dean bit back a groan at the loss of Sam’s mouth on his. Sam pulled the bedcovers over both of them and rolled onto his side, looping one arm around Dean’s waist and pulling him back against his chest, close enough to tuck his head into Dean’s neck. Lulled by the warmth of Sam’s body pressed against him, Dean could feel himself sliding into sleep. He lay there trying to not think about the board meeting and whatever that might entail. He wasn’t sure if he heard or imagined Sam’s voice low and earnest in his ear as he drifted off, “I’ll look after you Dean, trust me.” Hmm. Wouldn’t that be nice, Dean thought, as sleep tugged him under.

: : :

“You should see yourself Dean. So beautiful – and no one can touch you. You’re mine.” 

Sam was babbling as he adjusted the ropes, fussing and tightening here and there. Dean had been a bundle of nerves all morning, and even being ordered between Sam’s legs to suckle Sam’s cock hadn’t soothed him like it usually did these days. He was feeling fractious and twitchy and knew if he didn’t settle soon Sam would make him regret it.

When Sam finally finished up work and ordered Dean to bring him off, Dean could hardly concentrate. Finally losing patience, Sam had grabbed his brother’s head and taken over Dean’s haphazard motions. He came so fast Dean was caught off guard by the flood of come filling his mouth, causing Dean to choke as he hadn’t done in years.

“S’all right baby. I know what’s bothering you. Come on let’s get you fed and watered and get this over with.” 

After Sam had taken him to the bathroom shower stall and after his ablutions were complete, Sam lubed up a medium sized plug, inserting it carefully in Dean’s ass. Dean hung his head, grateful for the lack of dog tail and the fact that his hands were only manacled together. He could flex his fingers for the first time in days. Too soon for Dean’s frayed nerves, Sam was leading him down to the main Raiser’s boardroom. His gait was stiff and awkward with the vertigo of unaccustomed height, from having not been higher than kneeling for days. Even the novelty of being able to stand upright again couldn’t decrease the dread in his gut as they entered the large boardroom that would be home of this evenings ‘festivities’. Dean’s nerves weren’t helped by the fact that just before leaving their suite his brother had disappeared into the playroom and returned with a small satchel in hand. Dean had swallowed in fear. Who knew what that bag contained?

Now, as he swung in mid-air, completely encased in black rubber, Dean was all too aware of the secrets it held. Sam had been meticulous as hedusted Dean's limbs and torso liberally with baby powder, then carefully worked Dean’s arms and legs into the skintight vinyl that quickly became hot and sweaty. Sam’s manhandling of him had another side effect, though, and Dean’s cheeks stained crimson in shame as his cock struggled to harden in the confides of the tight vinyl. Sam’s hands and the gentle care as he handled every one of Dean’s limbs was strangely arousing. It didn’t stop Dean from starting to hyperventilate when Sam reached to bring the black hood down over his face, and Dean twisted and struggled in his vinyl prison.

Dean knew his pupils were blown wide with fear when Sam snapped. “Hush Dean, this is what I want and you always do what I want. Right, baby?” As Sam stepped up close to him, his master’s thigh pressed knowingly against his hardened cock, making Dean gasp. Sam shoved the small black ball gag in his mouth. “There, we don’t want you getting in trouble because of what might come out of your mouth, now do we?” Betrayed by his body, whining over the gag, Dean had just enough brain power left to shake his head as Sam lowered the hood. Once the rubber was fitted around his jaw and neck and secured Dean's terror was relieved – there were breathing holes, and also, Sam had left both eyeholes open so he was able to see, in a limited fashion.

Next had come the ropes, the now hated loop after loop of red line. Sam had always been good with knots, but this was beyond anything Dean had ever experienced. The red nylon spun out to carefully cocoon his body in a series of intertwined loops and knots worthy of an art show. What seemed like hours later, he now hung there, bent to Sam's pleasure and helpless to do anything but watch, his head down in misery as the men filed into the room. The last to enter was Roman himself.

Dean’s eyes flicked up when he heard the man’s booming voice from the back of the room; he couldn’t help the shiver of dread that ran through him.

“Sam! Sam, my boy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Roman clapped Sam on the shoulder companionably, shaking his hand and not letting go as he turned to address the room. “Hello everyone, I’d like to introduce you to our new VP of production, Sam Winchester. Sam’s been working like a dog here, improving efficiency, and he has a whole plan mapped out for our investors' meeting next week. I want you all to make him welcome. I mean, any man who can make a dark angel hood ornament for my boardroom has got my vote of confidence.” Roman’s expression was full of teeth as he worked the room, shaking hands and chatting with different board members, introducing Sam individually to each one. 

When they’d made their way to the front of the room, Roman said, “Sam, I must say your work here is inspired. I never knew you had a knot fetish.” Dean silently echoed Roman’s opinion. He knew what Roman saw, Dean completely covered from head to toe in black vinyl, vivid red ropes crisscrossing his body. His arms were bound securely to his sides at the elbows and then the red lines following to his wrists to ensure his hands were clasped in front of him as though he was in prayer. The red rope continued its artful passage down his legs and all the way to his ankles, so that they were laced stiff-legged, together like a diver’s, jumping off a cliff, toes pointed toward the floor. 

The network of ropes formed a secure harness by which to suspend him in mid-air by seven lines running out from either side along his rib cage up to an anchor in the ceiling. From Dean’s limited sightline, even he had to admit the artful span of red lines sprouting from his body looked like bloody wings. 

Roman chuckled appreciatively, “The hands bound together in prayer are a nice touch, Sam. I like your sense of humor. Although I am a bit disappointed that his legs are knotted so securely together. I had hoped some options might have been left open.”

Sam snorted, “Well sir you did say a show; you didn’t say what kind of show.”

“Yes, yes, I do like a man who keeps track of the detail. Well, enough about this. Let’s get down to business.”

Dean allowed his head to drop back down to rest on his chest for the meeting, it was the only range of motion Sam had left him. After the meeting the ‘meet and greet’ portion of the gathering began, and Dean was pitifully grateful Sam had set him apart from the herd.

Slaves of all ages and sizes filed in in to kneel at their masters’ feet while Den employees carted in a whole range of hardware to play with. From St. Andrew’s crosses to leather benches, the room slowly filled with all manner of toys and equipment to chain or tie, or clamp, or in one unbelievable instance, stitch, a body to. Dean shuddered and closed his eyes as the moans and screams of pain began. The odd twitch or shudder that ran through him when hands reached up to run along his thighs or cup his vinyl-encased crotch, were nothing compared to what the other poor slaves in the room were being subjected to. Dean made a mental promise to be extra good for Sam after this. Sam had kept his word and kept him safe. 

Thinking of Sam, Dean’s eyes scanned the room looking for his brother and found him in a corner talking to someone as he sipped his drink. Sam’s gaze lifted unerringly and locked with Dean’s. For a fleeting moment Dean could see a hint of sadness in his brother’s tip tilted eyes, then Roman came to stand by his side. They chatted a bit, then Sam took something from his pocket and he and Roman looked over at Dean expectantly. 

Dean’s head flung back in sudden shock, his spine arching in a bow. The red lines of his wings trembled as the butt plug Sam had inserted sprung to vicious life, set on high. Dean arched back bucking and jerking like a hooked marlin, his body clenching around the device. With his eyes slammed open in shock and betrayal, he watched as Roman clapped his hands with glee, and slapped Sam on the back. 

For the rest of the evening Sam would turn the device on and off at random times, Dean panting behind his gag, head drooping after each session, his body on fire and his cock hard and aching in the vinyl encasing it. Sometimes Sam would leave it on long enough for Dean to come, moaning behind his gag, his cock struggling for release in the tight confines that acted almost like a cock cage. Most of the time though, Sam left it on just long enough to leave Dean hard and wanting. 

In spite of Sam’s betrayal, Dean couldn’t stop his eyes from following his master for the rest of the night. He was surprised to see that Sam didn’t take part in any of the festivities, just chatted with business associates and sipped his brandy sparingly. Dean felt like something was off about his brother; it was nothing anyone but Dean would notice, but it was there.

Hours later, with the pull of a single knot, Dean was falling through the air. He gasped as Sam’s arms tightened around him before he hit the ground. After tightening his hold incrementally, Sam finally allowed Dean to slide down the length of Sam’s body until his feet touched the floor. 

Dean’s numb legs refused to support him after being bound so long, and Sam had to maintain his hold to prevent Dean from collapsing completely. Dean was left huddling weak and shaky in the cage of Sam’s arms. His brother eased Dean onto the floor and slipped the vinyl hood off his head. A straw was pressed to his lips, and Sam’s voice was a rough balm to his ears as his large hand combed gently through Dean’s sweat soaked hair. “Drink, baby. S'allright Dee, I gotcha.”

: : :

 


	7. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

“So, do I look good, Dean?” Sam asked, Dean looked up, blinking as he focused on his brother, even though he knew Sam didn’t expect an answer.

Dean continued to suckle Sam’s cock. He could feel his brother’s dick twitch in his mouth, and Dean started to bob his head up and down along Sam’s length. In the last few days since the board meeting, Dean had felt all hope draining from him. He saw no way out of the box he’d climbed into by his own decision. His brother watched him all the time, even when he slept in his brother’s bed, Sam carefully chained Dean’s ankle manacle to a ring welded to his bed. Dean could feel himself slipping as each avenue of escape was blocked by his methodical and brilliantly mad brother. Since his prolonged stay in the vinyl suit Dean found himself panicking when Sam left him alone, and was only happy when he was by his side. He spent more and more of that time in a hazy state of non-existence as he huddled next to the comforting bulk of his brother and tried not to think at all.

“Jesus, that mouth. It’s a toss-up whether I’d prefer to kiss it or fuck it. You’re so good at both.”

Sam ruffled Dean’s hair, his brother’s hand trailing gently down the side of his face nudging Dean from his fuzzy non-thoughts. Dean hummed around Sam’s cock, Sam watching in fascination as his dick disappeared in and out of Dean’s mouth. “Oh God, baby, yeah!” 

His brother arched back, thrusting his hips toward Dean’s face. Dean struggled to stay upright under the movement. His arms bound in long gloves securely laced and folded across each other behind his back didn’t allow him many ways to stop his own fall. At least they weren’t the puppy paws. Those and the fluffy tail had stayed gone after the board meeting and Dean had hoped he’d seen the last of them. 

Dean was listing to the side slightly when Sam grabbed hold of Dean’s head in two dinner plate-sized paws, and started thrusting more strongly into Dean’s face. Dean felt Sam’s cock nudge the back of his throat, and he struggled to keep his throat open to swallow his brother down. Sam moaned again as Dean’s throat rippled along his length and the hitch in Sam’s breathing said he wouldn’t last long. Dean’s own cock twitched in arousal at the sight of his brother coming apart.

Sam continued to rut back and forth into Dean, his hands careful on Dean’s head. With a broken cry and one final stroke, Sam yanked Dean in so his head was buried in the fabric of Sam’s dress slacks. Dean could feel Sam coming deep down his throat. Sam stood there panting as his dick softened in Dean’s mouth. As Sam slowly withdrew, Dean licked and cleaned his brother. Sam tucked himself away and crouched down to kiss Dean thoroughly. Dean knew he could taste himself in Dean’s mouth, but Sam lapped and suckled Dean’s tongue like it was the finest candy.

Sam stood straightened his tie and said softly, “Good boy, Dean. Now I need to get you into your cage.”

Sam unlaced the long black gloves holding Dean’s hands at his back then removed first one, then the other glove. Sam licked his lips and gave Dean a sad weary look before suddenly glancing away. He whispered, “Gonna make it all up to you Dean, you just wait. I’ll fix this.” Dean whimpered at the prospect of being left alone when his brother urged him gently into the cage. He looked at Sam hopefully, his still free hands grasping the bars of the cage, begging with his eyes not to be left behind, but Sam just shook his head. “No you can’t come tonight, Dean. I can’t keep you safe. Fuck Roman if he has a problem with that.”

: : :

Sam had left only a few of the occasional lights around the room on when he left, and it was bathed in shadows. It was too early for sleep to be possible. Restless, Dean lay on his side on his new pillow, looking up at the darkened ceiling through the bars of his cage, contemplating his brother’s words. Considering most of the time it was Sam who was the source of Dean’s pain, Sam who beat him, who punished his every misstep or hurt him just for fun, what safety could he be concerned about?

Dean shook his head in confusion, he wasn’t sure what was worse, being forced to attend the investors meeting in The Vault, following carefully two paces behind Sam as they went past the rows and rows of unwilling and sometimes lucid blood donors, or being left behind here alone in the dark wondering what would happen next. No, he knew what was better, here it was safe, here it was quiet, and Dean wouldn’t be forced to watch as the investors ‘sampled’ the product or potentially be ‘sampled’ himself. Dean hummed to himself trying to find comfort in the soft noise and the vibration in his throat.

In the past, Dean had wondered about vampires, that creatures who lived as long as they did, might not be better positioned in society. The odd coven he and his dad and brother had uncovered over the years had usually been half starved and ragged collections of misfits. He’d never suspected that those were just the fringes, an exception. That the real backbone of vampire society was well-heeled and positioned and poised to take over corporate America, maybe even the world. 

It made sense in a crazy way, who else could take such a long view in investing? Who else would have the memory of all that had come before, like a centuries-old blood sucker…the bastards. 

And if vampires were millionaires and Roman was making his big play tonight, he wondered why Sam had left him behind. It didn’t make sense, for the new executive in RRE that Sam was now. All the investors would be trotting out their blood slaves, and Sam would be looked down on for not having some kind of personal servant in attendance. Dean felt tremors go through him; this time it wasn’t from the cold, but from recall of Roman’s hungry gaze as Sam had displayed him during the board meeting. Dean knew that lust-filled look, and he knew he was on Roman’s radar. Maybe Sam left Dean behind just to sidetrack Roman. Sam wasn’t blind; maybe he didn’t like sharing what was his, even with his boss.

Being able to use his hands was a novelty. He could pull the blanket that had appeared in his cage just over a week ago up around his shoulders, wiggle and flex his fingers. Most of the time it was Sam’s habit to leave his hands shackled in front of him when he put him in the cage, his sole adornment sometimes a cock cage. That too had disappeared some time ago. Huh. 

Dean's mind started to click into gear, pushing through the numb fog as he began to connect the dots. The hunter he had tried so hard to bury under the weight of his failure and pain began to rear his head again, gaining nearly full force in the space of minutes. He knelt up, his hands rattling at the doors of the cage, and he whispered, “Sammy, what the hell are you up to, man?”

: : :

A loud explosion rocked the building and Dean felt the suite doors buckle slightly under the strain. Dust trickled down from the false ceiling, items rattled all over the apartment. Dean looked up, startled. He glanced around for a source, a direction for the sound. It seemed to come from somewhere in the depths of the building. Dean’s first thought was ‘Sam’. He knelt up and frantically shoved at the cage door with his shoulder, but it gave no more readily than it had weeks ago. Dean did a quick calculation: if the building had caught fire and the explosions were just a by-product of the blaze, he was trapped here. There was no way he could reach Sam.

Another series of explosions flung Dean to one side of the cage, the building rumbling ominously, and the few lights in the room flickered. What was going on? He didn’t think he was imagining gunfire and shouting. What the hell?

The door to the apartment slammed open and Sam strode into the front foyer, looking wildly around. He swung the door closed, locking it securely, and then rushed over to Dean’s cage, terse words spilling from his lips. “Dean we have to get out of here now!”

Dean blinked up at Sam, his blanket forgotten. Relief and confusion battled equally inside him as Dean stared quizzically up at his master, unsure if he had really heard Sam's words correctly, and what they meant. He wanted to ask what was going on, but fear held him back. He didn’t want to set Sam off. He’d find out soon enough. At least Sam was safe. 

Sam fiddled with the lock on his cage and when it opened he threw the lock away and flung open the door kneeling down in front of Dean. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes as he mumbled, “Dean, I know this must be all kinds of strange, but I have to ask you to trust me. We have to get out of here, now, I’ll explain it all later, but you have to just go with me on this. Come on, let’s get you out of there.” One large hand reached toward Dean and Dean bit his lip, allowing his master to help him crawl forward.

As soon as he helped him out of the cage, Sam let go of Dean as though it was repellent to touch him, and ran off to the bedroom. He left a bewildered Dean behind. Without any further orders, Dean waited nervously for his brother to return. 

Sam ran back into the room and dumped several pieces of clothing still on their hangers on the floor in front of him. Sam looked at Dean and swallowed, then closed his eyes and looked away. Dean felt shame burn through him. What had he done so wrong? 

“G-get dressed Dean.”

Dean stared at his brother in complete bafflement. Sam was up to something, just what? Dean’s mind raced as he tried to run through the possible new scenarios. It had been so long since he’d been required to be anything more than pretty and obedient; his logic felt rusty and he could see Sam growing increasingly impatient. Dean let his fingers reach out to pluck nervously at the stack of freshly dry cleaned clothing dropped in front of him. 

Sam turned to the cabinets along the wall. He unlocked a set of doors Dean had never seen opened before. He leaned to get a glimpse past Sam’s broad shoulders to see a fully outfitted weapons cabinet: shotguns, crossbows, the works. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and he croaked out a bewildered, “Master?”

Sam pulled open his duffel bag and ordered, “Dean, hurry up and get dressed. We don’t have much time.”

Dean flinched at the abrupt tone and his eyebrows shot up for the second time in as many minutes. His master really had said ‘get dressed’? Dean leaned back on his heels in shock. Was this some kind of trick, some new way of getting Dean to do something that only brought down pain and punishment afterward? And what was Sam’s possible end game? Why where there explosions going off in the house?

: : :

Sam grabbed up two machetes and loaded them into his bag, then pulled out a pair of shotguns and started loading rounds. He glanced back at Dean, a look of self-disgust twisting his face at seeing Dean still kneeling there, timid and uncertain. This, this is what he had reduced his brother to, he and their father. How Dean must hate and loathe him now, when he wasn’t cringing in fear. Sam swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. When he wasn’t fucking him into the mattress driving the memories away, he felt sickened every time he looked at Dean. It was a constant reminder of the monster he was now. Incest was the least of his crimes.

Sam growled in sudden fury and disgust and turned away, slamming his fist savagely into the drywall beside the weapons cabinet. Sam could feel it crack beneath his hand, the pain in his knuckles numbing the pain in his heart. He struggled to calm himself and placed both hands on the wall, the knuckles of the one hand bloody and swollen as he tried to gain control of the trembling impotent rage running through him. He bowed his head and cursed softly under his breath. How could he do this when he couldn’t bear to look his brother in the face anymore, to see how badly he had broken him?

Huffing out a breath, Sam turned, he had to get it together or he and Dean would never escape alive, this was the last big push. All his planning depended on pulling this off. All he could feel was shame as he watched helplessly as Dean shuffled back in dread at his master’s anger, twisting his body away and covering his eyes. 

Sam knew Dean didn’t understand the order to get dressed, but he was too well trained now to say anything. He could see the fear in Dean’s eyes that Sam might be thinking he was trying to defy him and Sam’s heart broke a little more. Dean started to shake his head back and forth, an unspoken _no_ , _no_ , _no_ , forming, but not a sound escaped his lips.

Sam felt rage sweep through him at what he’d reduced his brother to, and he crouched down in front of Dean and, unthinking, grabbed him by the shoulders. Dean cried out at the fierce, hurtful grip and Sam let go instantly as if he'd been scalded. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, this is not your fault. I’m the asshole here. I –I’m not trying to trick you or hurt you, we just have to leave. Gotta get you dressed fast. We have to get going.” Sam felt like he was repeated himself again and again. An endless loop getting nowhere, as he expected Dean to break through the conditioning he’d spent months beating into him.

Finally realizing the futility of asking, Sam pulled Dean to standing and grabbed the black dress shirt from the pile of clothes he’d brought, and stripping it off the hangar he loosened the first few buttons and started shoving it over his brother’s head. Dean tried to raise his hands up to help but he couldn’t seem to coordinate his movements fast enough.

Sam took over, manhandling him into the shirt, shoving each arm into a sleeve and buttoning the cuffs quickly. He knew he was being rough, punishing his brother for not understanding Sam’s pain. He was so screwed.

“Yeah, good. Now the pants,” Sam mumbled apologetically and knelt down in front of the still wide-eyed Dean as he started to shimmy the dress pants up his legs. Dean stood there, mouth open, and only sluggishly started to help after Sam’s impatient plea, “Dean, come on, a little help here?” It must have seemed so much like the Sammy of long ago that Dean started to shift the pants up over his hips without thinking. It was only as Sam zipped him up, that Dean wiggled against the cloth, the shock kicking in of wearing clothing after months of being forced to go naked. 

The pants were a little long, but Sam thought they could pass and he shoved shoes toward Dean saying, “They’re mine and they’ll be too big, but they’ll get you out of here in one piece.”

: : :

Dean licked his lips again, still stunned by Sam’s actions. Where was this leading – out of here? What was Sam planning? Dean tried to force his mind up to speed. The protective haze he’d buried himself in gradually dispersed as it occurred to Dean that whatever scheme his brother had in mind, this was Dean’s chance, right here. Dean had clothes, and free hands which he flexed open and closed to increase his circulation. His brother wouldn’t be easy to take down, but he could do it; he just needed to gather his scattered wits and focus.

Sam grabbed his hand and pulled, while the other reached to shoulder the duffel bag on the desk. “Come on we gotta get down there and get Bobby.”

Dean’s head snapped back, all thoughts of escape scattering like a flock of crows. “Bobby?” he whispered.

Sam turned back to Dean. “Yeah, I’ll explain everything you need to know as we go.” 

But Dean had had enough. Lifelong training kicked in and he reached down deep, finding strength and power he'd not used in a while, grown rusty but not gone. He swung at Sam, catching him off-guard, punching him full on the jaw, and Sam staggered back. Out of practice after so long, Dean's hands and arms still felt like they were made of boneless rubber, but fury and worry fueled his strength.

“What the fuck, Dean? Why’d you do that?” Sam said cradling his jaw.

Dean didn’t answer, just launched himself bodily at Sam, knocking him to the floor as he rushed him. He swung at Sam again, punching him full on the face and then his fists were flying, his rage uncontrollable and he screamed, “You’re not going to hurt Bobby, you bastard, not like you’ve hurt me. There’s no way. I don’t care if my brother’s in there. I won’t let you do this to him.”

Sam growled, and with his superior weight and fully functioning limbs, he grappled and easily rolled Dean under his body. Sam caught his wrists, pinning his still-tingling half-numb limbs to the floor on either side of his head. Dean snarled up at him. He felt like biting and kicking and screaming in heartbreak. Not Bobby too…

“Stop it, Dean! I don’t want to hurt you, or Bobby! I don’t have time for this shit, the whole Den is coming down. You heard the explosions right? We need to help, both of us. I’m me, Dean, you cured me, I’m me. I’ve been me for weeks now since you ran the spell. I just couldn’t tell you. Dick had the whole suite bugged and cameras hidden everywhere, I wanted to, god I so wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. The only thing I could do is try and make it better for you. Less horrible, at least. Maybe I didn’t do a good enough job, but we don’t have time, right now. Bobby and the other hunters are here, and we’ve got to join up with them and clear out this whole building. All of them, while we can. I can’t do this with you now, Dean. Please.” 

Sam’s hands sprang back from their punishing grip and Sam looked down at them like he didn’t understand whose they were. He looked away from Dean again, red creeping up his neckline and Dean realized finally that this wasn’t rage, this was shame. “I-I’ve barely been able to keep it together and even look at you, what I’ve done to you. Just trust me, all right? Stay with me. We’ve got to see this through. I’ve got to see this through; then you can do whatever you want with me. I deserve it. But right now innocent people need our help.”

Sam sat up, his weight on Dean’s legs, but not holding him down. It had all happened so fast Dean couldn’t process what he was hearing. He lay there, staring up at his brother – Sam…was Sam again? Back in his right mind? But they… the last two weeks, repeatedly… Dean felt himself go pale and then burned bright red as well at the thought of what they’d done during that time, unwilling to believe it, his brother had continued to use him, rape him all that time. No, it couldn’t be true. Dean began to struggle again, bucking back against Sam’s superior strength. Fuck no it couldn’t be true, Sam couldn’t…. Dean’s mind blanked and he resorted to the part of Sam’s story that rang the most false.

“No, you’re lying! Bobby knew Roman owned the Raiser’s Den but he didn’t know anything about the operation he had going on here, why would he be here now? You’ve turned, gone bad, man, and I won’t help you.” Dean’s teeth bared in anger.

“Trust me, Dean, seriously. I gotcha this time. And no, Bobby didn’t know about this,” Mournful puppy eyes finally stared Dean in the face, Sam’s voice a broken whisper as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I know what you must think of us, but, but Dad and I have been on this job for over two years: building our cover, trying to work our way into Roman’s operation and find out about the disappearances, what Roman was doing with the people. We wanted to bring them down, whatever you might think of Dad and me we were always hunters. I-I only called Bobby and arranged for his help last week after…after I came back to myself. After you brought me back, Dean. I had no intention of ever hurting Bobby, I just told Roman what he wanted to hear. Bobby got all the hunters rounded up and coordinated to strike tonight. It’s thanks to him that we’re gonna pull this operation off.” Sam stood, and reached down to lend Dean a hand up. 

Dean forced himself to meet – and hold – Sam's gaze for the first time in a long time as he started to helped him up. Staring at him now, Dean could see what he’d refused to believe was possible. The cruel evil gleam in Sam’s eyes was gone. He had to be sure though. 

Dean let himself be pulled to his feet, and reaching out in in one continuous motion and latched onto Sam’s shirt, yanking it wide open. Fabric ripped and buttons flew, falling haphazardly to the floor, but Sam didn’t move a muscle. 

Dean’s fingers traced wonderingly over Sam’s tattoo-free chest. He felt his heart swell with emotion, and he could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. After all these years, all this pain. He blinked rapidly and looked up into Sam’s sorrow filled, fox-tilted eyes and said, “Sammy?” His voice was light and rough, finding the word hard to get out.

Sam leaned down and took Dean’s lips gently with his own. The kiss was soft and undemanding. Dean could feel himself melt into his brother’s comforting touch. It should have been wrong, but after all this time, after all that had happened, the feel of Sam’s lips ghosting over his, his tongue sweeping into Dean’s mouth and swirling over his tongue was a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Sam’s hands reached to hold Dean’s face still as he kissed across the corners of his mouth and over his eyes and ended with one long solemn kiss on Dean’s forehead like a blessing. 

Sam closed his eyes and, swallowing his emotions, huffed out. “We have to get going, Dean. Can you get your game face on?”

Dean felt weak from weeks, months, of having his every movement decided, dictated, and controlled, every decision taken out of his hands, every action performed at the whim of this man before him. Dean had to reach down deep to find the man he had been, the hunter, the strong, smart, independent man who had decided to walk into the lion's den to rescue his brother. He swayed, unused to thought and action, but he looked at Sam, and though he was unable to speak at the moment, he nodded assent. He moistened dry lips with his tongue, tasting Sam as he did so, and was finally able to say, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Sam produced a key and, turning Dean around, unlocked the collar from his neck. As Dean turned back he didn’t miss the fact that Sam pocketed the collar rather than throwing it away.

A little dazed by all the sudden revelations, Dean's fingertips touched his bare neck while Sam continued to speak. “I think it will be easier if you’re dressed like a client, rather than a slave. It'll give you a bit of an edge as we make our way through the house. Also, you’ll be able to defend yourself if- if anything happens to me.” Sam ducked his head, his own cheeks reddening. Dean snapped his mouth shut. This really did sound like the real Sam.

Sam pulled a small walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and turned up the volume. Voices were calling out locations and status from all over the house. Sam waited for a break in the chatter and pressed the button. “Snaggletooth, this is Viper, I have the package. I am go for S.”

“Roger Viper, good luck, over.” Bobby’s gruff voice came over the staticky speaker, and the last of Dean's worries fell away. He was a hunter again.

: : :

They went through the halls of the Raiser’s Den, Dean like a Horseman of the Apocalypse. Every demon that crossed their path was met with iron or steel, and blood of many colors soon splattered their faces and clothing. They exited the executive elevator, and Sam led Dean to their assignment; they were responsible for clearing the sties. Sam was out front, his shotgun blazing, and Dean had his back. Dean took out the sties manager with justified relish. Customers caught in flagrante with the slaves were shot or decapitated if they protested. Some fought. A vampire pulled himself out of the girl he was fucking and lunged, dick still stiff and weeping, at Dean. With a snarl, Dean cut his head off and kept moving. It felt good to move in his old skin again, his fingers trembled slightly as he grasped the shotgun, he knew he was running on pure force of will and adrenaline, but he’d take it. Anything was better than moldering in a cage like a lapdog, he just hoped in his weakened state he didn’t let his brother down. 

The floor healers gave up immediately, groveling on their knees for their lives. Sam nodded tersely and ordered them to leave, with a warning: if he ever saw them again, he’d kill them. Once the non-violent customers were taken care of, Dean hurried down the aisles, unchaining the slaves, both the demons and humans chained there.

Some were in such rough shape they needed support from others to stand, to move. “There are vans at the entrance ready to take you to a safe house, or the hospital if you need it,” Sam’s booming voice shouted out over the wails of pain and panic. “Get to the vans and you’ll be safe. Help each other, because once everybody's out, we’re burning this place to the ground.” 

Dean could feel the fierce grin spreading over his face as he freed the last of the victims. That was the brother he knew.

Sam kicked open the doors to the baths. Inside, Talia and several slaves stood huddled together. The same Gyler demon who had brought Dean up to Sam was standing in front of them, gun raised. Recognizing Sam when he opened the door, he lowered his gun and said, “What’s going on boss?” 

Sam kept his shotgun leveled and said, “Not your boss anymore. Hunter here, and Hunters have taken over the Den. You going to surrender, or are we going to have ourselves a fight?” The Gyler didn’t answer, just swore and started to raise his Ruger. Dean blasted him with his shotgun before Sam even had a chance to react, and the demon was slammed back onto the floor, green blood oozing from the hole in his chest.

“What about you? We going to have any trouble with you?” Sam turned to address Talia, who’d already dropped the leashes holding the two slaves next to her. 

“Not me, no sir,” the words tumbled quickly out of her mouth.

Sam tipped his head toward the door and said to the two slaves, “There are white vans at the front ready to take you to a safe house to recover and get you back on your feet. Go now, others will help you. This house is coming down tonight.”

Dean watched as the two naked slaves ran from the room without looking back. He swung back instantly alert, his shotgun raised, when he heard the water demon speak. 

“Freckles… it’s you. I barely recognized you with clothes on, sugar.” Talia raised one tentacled limb towards Dean, but then dropped it instantly as she thought better of the move. “You look good, honey. This man treating you all right?” Dean flushed, and he looked over to see a dark look of irritation on Sam’s face.

“Get out of here now before I shoot you just for touching him.” Sam growled, and the water demon’s tittering laughter floated over Dean as she glided out of the room. 

“Sure enough, love, sure enough. Oh, Freckles, you should keep him. He’s cute.” Dean shook his head, licking his lips to stall for time till he could think of something useful to say that wouldn’t set Sam off. 

“Okay, so what’s next?” Dean forced himself to grunt out as he watched Sam’s finger twitch on the shotgun's trigger. His brother’s gaze continued to track Talia’s exit from the room, but Dean couldn’t read his expression. 

Finally shaking his head and sighing, Sam let the shotgun rest against his thigh as he pulled the walkie-talkie out of his pocket and snapped it on. Irritation flowed off Sam in waves, “Snaggletooth, this is Viper, S is clear. We have incoming, 30 some odd free to main, over.”

“Roger that, Viper. We have capacity, good job.”

“We are proceeding to The Bank, anything we should be concerned about ? Over.”

“Viper this is Snaggletooth, be aware we have bats barricaded in the belfry. You be careful, boys.”

Sam shook his head and seemed to collect himself. He turned down the volume, stowing the walkie away again. “It's The Vaults, next. You've gotta prepare yourself, Dean. It's not gonna be good down there.”

: : :

The Winchester brothers shot several more members of security who refused to give up as they made their way through the house. They also ran across a few hunters Dean didn’t recognize, but Sam seemed to. Everybody appeared to be working in teams to clear the last of the monsters from the Raiser’s Den. 

Sam and Dean continued to make their way through the halls, finally reaching Dick’s private elevator to the Vaults. As the elevator stopped on the bottom floor, Sam reached across and grasped Dean’s arm, stopping him from leaving. “Dean, I-I just want you to know if anything – if anything happens, that I love you and I’m so sorry that all this happened to you. I-I want… I- just wanted you to know that before we got going.”

Dean swallowed over the lump that suddenly swelled in his throat and nodded. What could he say right now that would really even begin to touch on everything he felt?

“Yeah, no, yeah… we’ll talk when we get back to Bobby’s.” Dean rambled incoherently and Sam looked at him, prismatic eyes swirling with emotion. He squeezed Dean’s arm and nodded, and each of them cocked his shotgun before leaving the relative safety of the elevator.

The room was in chaos, blood lines ripped and torn everywhere. Slaves struggled behind their gags, or bled out silently on their cots. Dean could see four or five hunters pinned down on the other side of the room by demons holed up in Sam’s old office. Dean pulled Sam down to a crouch and pointed out the two camps. 

“If we swing along the south wall, we can enter your office from the back door and take them by surprise.” Dean offered. Sam glanced around quickly, taking in the situation, then nodded. The two brothers ran crouched over along the south wall and threw themselves up against the back wall of Sam’s office. They could hear the monsters talking inside. Dean was taken off guard when he heard Roman’s voice. 

“What do you mean we’re pinned down? Unpin us, damn it, that’s what I pay you fools for! Now get out there!”

Dean peeked around the corner through one of the large windows, and Roman’s order had several of the demons providing a volley of covering fire while two vampires crawled out the front door of the office to try and sneak up on the hunters. Sam pulled out the walkie and signaled, whispering into the handheld, “Hell’s Angel, this is Viper. You have fangs on the floor coming at your six. Fangs on the floor, over.” He quickly turned the walkie off so it wouldn't give their position away. Dean looked at Sam with one arched brow, “Hell’s Angel? Really?”

“It’s Ash’s group, what can I say? He chose the name.” Sam whispered but a grin split his face, and dimples appeared in his cheeks. Dean sucked in a breath. It had been so long since he’d seen Sam’s unguarded smile.

“Okay, we go on three. You cover the guards. I’ll go for Roman,” Sam ordered. Dean nodded, and Sam’s fingers counted down. They kicked open the back door to the office and rushed in, guns pointed toward the three monsters clustered around Sam’s desk. Sam shouted out, “Drop your weapons and surrender.” His shotgun leveled at Roman’s head.

The faint click of the gun at his head being cocked from behind him had Dean frozen in place.

“You keep forgetting, Sam, Vampires have awesome hearing. I could hear your hearts beating from outside. I knew it was you. Now if you’ll kindly drop your weapons? Or I could always blow your brother’s head off.”

Sam risked a quick glance and behind him. Merle was holding a gun to Dean’s head. Dean had his hands outstretched, the shotgun held by one finger in the loop in the handle. Sam swore softly and dropped his gun.

“Both of you, and kick them over here.”

Both Sam and Dean dropped their guns and kicked them over to Roman as directed.

“Oh Sam… I had such high hopes for you. Senior management, maybe even turning you once you’d proven yourself. But now….” Roman looked disappointed.

Sam outright laughed. “What, you think your operation is going to survive this? We have you, Roman. We have all the names, locations. This isn’t our only initiative. We have hunters at all your whorehouses right now, taking them down. Even if you get away, documentation and some very telling photos about your extracurricular business activities are going to be leaked to the media. Even if they don’t know you’re a vampire, they’ll know you’re scum. Your reputation will be ruined.”

“Hmm,” Dick looked impressed, “I see you’ve been a busy boy, Sammy. Impressive. But that’s just Dick Roman’s life. You didn’t actually believe I wouldn’t take the simple precaution of having another dozen functioning aliases? Or did you forget, I can simply go to sleep for a century and when I wake up, no one will remember what I looked like, and I’m back in business, son. That could have been you, too. Now you’ll just watch as I turn your brother.” Dick smiled with all his teeth.

“Bring him over here.” Roman ordered.

Merle shoved Dean forward with the stock of his rifle, and Dean took the few steps forward towards Roman. 

“Ah," Dick smiled appreciatively. “AB negative. Always was a favorite of mine. I always find it runs a little sweeter than the other types.” Roman grabbed Dean’s hair and pulled him closer. Dean was caught with his back flattened against Roman’s chest, his neck arched taut and vulnerable. Roman breathed in, scenting Dean. “Maybe I won’t turn you just yet. Maybe I’ll keep you as my personal blood slave. You’re trained already, your brother’s broken you in nicely, now hasn’t he?”

“Fuck you, Dick,” Dean snarled, and Roman jerked on his hair, causing Dean to wince.

“Nah-ah, that’s no way for a slave to speak to his new master.” Dick smiled and stared down at Dean. Dean watched as Roman’s fangs snicked into place, and he swallowed and tried to brace himself for the pain.

A grenade blast went off at the front office door, and Dean and Roman were thrown to the floor. As the dust cleared, Dean tried to scramble away, but Roman hauled him back against him, a gun pressed to his ribs.

Bobby and three other hunters, including Ash, stepped through the shattered door. The two demons nearest the door went down in a hail of bullets, and Dean saw Sam roll and grab up his shotgun, blasting Merle in the face. Dean winced in sympathy. Merle hadn’t been such a bad guy. He grunted as Roman shoved the gun harder into his side.

“Hey, buddy,” he grunted, “I get it. You’ve got a gun. No need to drive it through me.” Dean complained, and he could hear Roman laughing in his ear.

“What? Haven’t you idjits taken care of this trash yet?” Bobby asked as he pointed his own rifle toward Roman.

“We were working on it, Bobby. Trust me,” Dean said before Roman shoved the gun into his side again and, with a pained grunt, Dean took the hint and shut up.

“Now why not let the boy go, and we’ll let you scurry out of here with your tail between your legs to live another day.” Bobby calmly proposed, not dropping his rifle.

“Now that’s mighty sporting of you. But what if I want to take my snack with me?”

“Sorry. Dean ain’t on the drive-through menu anymore. You’ll have to settle for plasma. I hear it’s mighty filling.”

“I was never a fan of plasma – too bland.”

 “Things is tough all over.” Bobby sneered.

“Well," Roman drawled, car salesman smile still firmly in place. "I know when I’m licked, so I accept your deal. Dean’s life for my safe passage out of here.”

“That’s right,” Bobby nodded, his visage grim and implacable, his next words a promise. “But all bets are off if we ever see your ugly mug again.”

“Fair warning, but you know this deal hardly seems fair. I leave here, my reputation in tatters, and I have to leave my snack behind. What about you Sam? How will your reputation stand up? Does everyone know you’re a brother fucker? Does your dear friend Bobby here know you’ve been screwing and torturing Dean for years?”

Dean turned his head, closing his eyes in shame as Roman spoke. He could see where this was going, and it could only end badly.

“Just, leave it," Dean whispered desperately. “You’re getting away with your life. Stop, please, I’m beggin’ you.” 

“What’s that Dean?” Roman shoved his gun under Dean’s chin, forcing his chin up. “You’re begging me not to expose what a heartless bastard your brother is? And how your incestuous relationship has ruined you for polite conversation? Does Bobby even know about the brand he burnt into your skin? Or how he likes to fuck you blindfolded and sitting on his lap, moaning like a whore?”

“He’s been under a spell God damn it.” Dean swallowed and turned his head away unable to meet the eyes of the other hunters in the room.

“Fair enough, but how does that explain you liking it?” Roman’s voice was like black coiled smoke that oozed through the room and Dean sagged, dropping his head down to his chest in shame. How could he explain that? It was true, wasn’t it? His own brother, and he’d gone from dreading it to craving his touch.

“Stop. Just stop,” Dean begged, and Bobby broke in.

“Shut your freakin’ mouth, you monster, or all bets are off.”

Roman stood taller and pushed Dean to his knees on the floor in front of him. He landed on the floor in an ugly sprawl and Roman yanked him back to rest against his legs, Dean slumped there brokenly. “What? You don’t like it when one of your own becomes the monster? Don’t like the truth staring you in the face?”

Dean wanted to curl up and die, he could see Bobby's compassion and sympathy. Ash just looked stunned, and the other hunter Dean didn’t know looked disgusted. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt Roman’s body stiffen behind him. He felt the warm splatter of blood and opened his eyes just in time to see Roman’s head land with a soft wet thud on the floor in front of him. His eyes still stared glassily at Dean, his mouth worked, but the words never found the air. The body slid down Dean’s back, to land in a heap behind him.

Dean twisted around in place to find Sam standing behind them, his face closed and dark. Sam’s hands clenched around the handle of the machete, and a snarl curled across his face as he snapped out, “Didn’t seem to hear my heartbeat that time did you, Dick?” 

Bobby stood stunned for the moment, and Dean floundered trying to raise himself out of the stinking gore and blood Roman’s body quickly puddled on the floor. 

“Oh damn, I’ve got vampire goo all over me,” Dean muttered, trying to cut the tension in the room as he scraped blood off his face and hands. “Too bad real life isn’t like one of those TV shows, huh? and the bodies just turned to sparkly ash. The real deal is a hell of a lot messier to clean up.” 

A small smile flitted across Sammy’s face as he helped Dean to his feet. As he stood, Dean glanced around him. It was one thing to confess to Bobby, but for the other hunters to know… Dean’s gut twisted in dread and humiliation. Sam stayed close to him, a hand still possessively on his forearm. He raised it to touch Dean’s chin, lifting it so Dean's eyes met his.

“I’m always forgetting how funny you are, Dean,” Sam’s fingers caressed the side of Dean’s jaw lingeringly and Dean bit his lip, his eyelids fluttering closed at the gentle touch. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Dean.” Sam whispered softly for Dean’s ears only. 

Bobby coughed, and Sam and Dean sprang apart guiltily. The old hunter said, “God damn monsters will lie about anything and everything. Come on, let’s haul ass. We've got people to save, here.”

Dean forced himself to look up and could see Ash and the other hunter nodding in approval. Ash muttered, “Damn straight, Bobby.” Sam tugged at Dean’s arm and, shouldering his weapons bag, strode out of the shattered remains of the office into the main Vault area. Dean followed along, trying to gain control of his emotions. By now, other hunters had come to the vault and the slow process began of releasing the hundreds of unwilling blood donors from their cots.

Dean reached out a hand and grasped Bobby’s arm, holding him back from meeting up with the main group to ask discreetly, “What are you going to do with them Bobby? The safe houses can’t possibly look after them all. They’ve got a lot of medical issues.” 

Bobby took off his battered cap and sighed. “You’re right, and that’s why we’re not even going to try. Sam already thought of this. We’re going to transport them all to the local hospital and say we found them in a cargo trailer. Human trafficking or some such, traumatized victims – which they are. Most of them are so far gone I’m not sure they’ll even be able to come back from something like this. I wish we could do more, but honestly, it’s way beyond our capacity.”

Sam came up to them and laid a hand over the nape of Dean’s neck, and Dean wanted to deny how comforting he found that touch. Sam said, “Well it’s a good thing then, that just before Dick Roman disappeared, RRE made a series of anonymous donations all over the U.S. to local hospitals, to aid the recovery of human slavery victims. It won’t fix them all, but the extra facilities and help will go some way toward helping these people. And Roman won’t be needing it where he is now.”

: : :

 


	8. And I have Been Consumed

 

  


 

: : :

 

Dean was surprised when Sam pulled the Impala up to the back door of the Raiser’s Den to pick up him up. 

Dean’s eyes looked her over in wonder, his mouth falling open in a little smile as he ran his hand along her hood in affection. It had been more than a year since he’d seen her, as John had often taken charge of moving Dean from location to location in his truck and Sam had custody of the car. “Baby, you look good,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

Bobby climbed the last few steps from the lower entrance and threw the empty jerry can away. “That’s the last of it, then. This place should be a smoldering heap by morning, thanks to some well placed C-4.”

Bobby handed Dean the pack of matches. “You wanna do the honors, son? I think it’d mean more to you than me.” Dean nodded and Bobby climbed up into the driver’s seat of the idling eighteen wheeler and drove the big rig away. Dean took a surprising amount of satisfaction throwing the lit matches into the kerosene-soaked back entrance. In no time, flames followed the carefully laid lines of accelerant crisscrossing the halls, and soon the Raiser’s Den was completely ablaze. 

He and Sam climbed into the Impala, Dean’s hands brushing affectionately over the scarred vinyl of the passenger seat. His fingers twitched to hold the wheel, but one thing at a time, he told himself. They were just clearing the parking lot when the first of the explosions rocketed through the Den, and Dean couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. 

They picked Bobby up in the parking lot of St. Mary’s Hospital, where he had driven one of the two stolen rigs. An anonymous phone call later, and the three of them watched from the safety of the Impala as medical staff streamed out to open up the trailer and begin to ferry survivors into the hospital. Seeing the unloading well underway, and their charges under medical care, it started to sink in that their part of this job was done. Sam cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, making their way through surface streets until they reached the highway.

On the long ride back to Bobby’s place, Dean gave silent thanks the old hunter was there as a buffer between him and Sam. He still didn’t know what to say to his brother, and the silence loomed large between them. He felt sorry for Bobby, who tried to fill the gap with small talk, before giving up and falling asleep in the back seat. For the first little while Sam kept glancing over nervously at Dean, licking his lips repeatedly like he was going to say something, but Dean could almost see the gears turning as he decided to stay silent each time. Dean felt himself tensing each time Sam’s gaze slid over him, and he became uncomfortably aware of the unfamiliar clothes he was wearing and that fact he wasn’t kneeling before his brother and how messed up was that? Dean’s gut twisted as his thoughts ran to equal parts guilt, despair and anger. 

When they stopped for gas, Sam silently handed him the keys, and Dean slid gratefully behind the wheel without looking his brother in the face. The distraction of driving was a welcome change from the endless loop of thoughts cycling through his brain. He inhaled, jittery and unsure as he turned the key and listened to the motor purr to life. When his hands gripped the familiar steering wheel for the first time in four years it was as if at least a small piece of his true self slotted into place. 

Relishing the feel of it in his hands, Dean was able to push back all the complicated thoughts in his head for a moment. Sam fussed for a bit until Dean finally snapped, breaking the silence for the first time in hours. “I’m not an invalid, Sam. I remember how to drive.”

“Well, don’t go speeding. I’m not even sure you even have a valid driver’s license now.”

“Just go to sleep why don’tcha and leave me be – jerk.” Dean whispered, almost choking on the last part, the aching familiarity of the phrase mixed up and twisted as he pulled back onto the highway. 

“Bitch,” Sam answered reflectively, then slanted a glance under his brows and a soft smile of affection at Dean. Dean couldn’t help the small, sad smile he sent his brother. He’d missed this, these innocent brotherly moments. It had been far too long. It didn’t last, though, as Dean’s thoughts began to cloud with all the humiliation and pain he’d experienced at his brother’s hands. He bit his lip and stared firmly out at the road.

For his part, Sam stared contemplatively out the Impala’s window. Finally, after a few minutes, Dean worked up the nerve to look over at his brother and realized this was the exact setting of his dream. Sam in the Impala, Bobby asleep in the back. Dean could almost feel Sam’s hand as it slowly crept over to run along Dean’s thigh, and he found himself shivering at the thought of his brother’s comforting touch. 

Sam had had his hands all over him for months, now; he was accustomed to depending on it, and nothing else, for whatever reassurance or comfort he could find in it. It would be too much to hope for, he rationalized, to go cold turkey in one day. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and felt a soft sigh escape his lips as he relaxed into the familiarity of the dream. Then anger flared at the idea that Sam’s touch should calm him so much, and that anger began to build slowly to rage. 

The rest of the trip continued in silence, Dean desperately trying not to think about what might happen next, trying to stay in the moment. He cracked the window, the cold night air clearing his head briefly, then he returned to quiet brooding. Sam slouched, knees up against the dash, equally tense, in the passenger seat, barely breathing.

Bobby woke up just as they neared Sioux Falls. 

Bobby had no comment about anything, but he did seem anxious to be somewhere else, the obvious tension wearing on the old hunter. It was running close to morning, though still pitch black, when they pulled into the parking lot of Singer Salvage. Bobby practically jumped out of the Impala. “You boys go on in, I gotta go… get some supplies. We’re outta darnn near everything. Be back in a jif, maybe with some breakfast fixings, and booze too. I don’t know about you fellows, but I could use a beer with my pancakes.”

“Bobby, it’s like, five in the morning. Don’t worry about it. We can get stuff later.” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck wearily as he climbed out of the Impala. Dean finally broke and forced himself to get out of the car as well. His head hung down almost touching his chest and he found himself almost trembling as he stood there.

“Naw, I’m awake, and I got it on my mind to do now. I’ll stow my gear in the house and be back in a couple of hours, or days.” Dean barely caught the last half Bobby whispered furtively under his breath as he grabbed his bags from the trunk and disappeared into the house.

“Ah, you sure you don’t want some company?” Sam called nervously after Bobby.

“No, no, you boys have a lot to say, and you don’t need me around, meddling in.”

Dean finally forced himself to look up at his brother who had moved to the trunk to pull out a couple of duffels. 

He approached Dean, standing tentatively before his brother, his eyes squinting in the darkness. 

“Hey, you hungry right now? I could see if Bobby has some bread, make us a sandwich or something to tide us over?” Sam offered quietly, his bags in his hand.

Dean stared up at Sam, who wouldn’t meet his eyes now that they were out of the neutral territory of the Impala. 

Terror rose inside Dean, nearly choking him at the thought of being alone with his brother. How could he…? A wave of rage followed closely, and suddenly Dean was lashing out, his fist connecting with Sam’s jaw for the second time in hours, this time with force and power behind it. Sam staggered back several steps and dropped his bags. “What the hell, Dean?”

“No! No, I-I can’t do this. I-I can’t pretend it’s all okay, that it’s all fine. That I’m fine, that what you did, how you deceived me – How could you Sammy? How could you even – ?, I’m your brother …and you knew. I just can’t…. I thought I could, but I can’t, Sam.”

“No-no one’s asking you to, Dean,” Sam’s voice soft and low out of the darkness was coming closer, like a cop negotiating with a jumper, and Dean had had enough of being managed and handled by Sam. No more. Dean stepped back, his voice high and shriller than he'd hoped for, “Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.” Dean said, in almost a sob. He hated how weak and pleading he sounded as he continued to back toward the safety of the Impala.

Sam halted his forward progress, and in the darkness Dean could barely make out Sam’s hands outstretched, pleading in the darkness.

“Not gonna touch you Dean, not ever gonna touch you again if that’s what you want. Just – just calm down alright? This has all been a shock. Let’s go in and talk okay?”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He’d worked for the last four years of his life to free his brother. Now he’d succeeded, but at what cost? He’d let Hands and Fists use him brutally; then he had allowed himself to be recaptured and used again in the most degrading ways in order to fall into Sam’s hands, to save him. How could he face his brother now? How could Sam even look at him, used and dirty, with all the memories of how Dean had begged for it? How could Sam ever respect him again? He was the older brother. He was supposed to be an example, not a victim. 

And how could Sam ever have even done this to him? If he really loved him, couldn’t he have fought harder against the spell? Dean felt himself spiraling out of control, and it was becoming hard to see. He scrubbed his hand angrily over his face. 

He had to leave, he had to get away. Now.

Dean stepped back, opening the Impala's door and climbing quickly inside before Sam could stop him. He could see Sam lurch forward, then catch himself.

“I love you Sammy,” Dean’s voice almost cracked on his confession, “but I can’t do this. I-I have to get away. Clear my head. Be…I’ll – I’ll be in touch.” Going on instinct, without letting himself think further, Dean started up the Impala and slammed it into reverse. Sam jumped back as Dean hit the gas and gravel went flying. He could see his brother in the first faint rays of the rising sun, running after him as he flew out of the drive, calling his name. “Dean! Dean stop, come back!”

Nervous sweat popped out along his brow and the back of his neck. Panic and terror gripped him and he stamped on the gas, heading out and away from Bobby’s. He could barely see the road as he sobbed in anguish. Howling cries tore from his chest and he felt like he was losing Sam all over again, but he just couldn’t. He had to get away, he didn’t have a plan, he didn’t have a cent to his name, but he couldn’t stay a minute longer. He hoped one day Sam would forgive him.

: : :

Sam’s boots slipped in the gravel as he desperately ran faster in a last ditch effort to reach his brother before the Impala got to the main road. He had to stop Dean, stop him from leaving. Everyone left him, his dad, his mom, now the person who raised him and loved him and took care of him his whole life… Sam wasn’t sure if he could survive that. He had to make Dean understand, bring him back, reason with his brother; but as the Impala fishtailed out onto the road he had to face the fact that he was on his own now. 

Chest heaving and out of breath, Sam staggered to a stop. He bent over wheezing in pain that had nothing to do with his recent exertions. His heart felt near to bursting out of his chest and he couldn’t stop the anguished sobs that tore from his lips. 

He held his sides sobbing. Animalistic cries splitting the night air, Sam barely registering that those cries came from him as he fell to the ground tears streaming down his cheeks. * _someone horrible_ * had done terrible things to his Dean, someone had hurt him, humiliated him, stripped him of his identity, his dignity, his whole sense of self, and left him a broken, obedient sex toy. Somebody hurt Sam's Dean! And the horrible, awful truth he couldn’t ever escape was that that awful somebody was Sam. 

He knelt there on the gravel drive, his mind blanking at the thought of continuing on his own without his brother. He knew Dean needed his space, needed time to think things through, but Sam had done this. Sam’s mind felt like it was splintering in a million directions, and he couldn't even take it all in. He was horrified at what he'd done. It couldn't stand; he couldn't leave it like this. He, Sam, had broken Dean, and it was up to Sam to make Dean better, make him know that he's loved and the most important person in the world, and make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again. He just didn't know how to make Dean see beyond the monster Dean must see every time he looked at him. Didn’t know how he could ever overcome that. 

Sam sat sobbing in the dirt as he tried to absorb the fact that not only had he lost his Dean, but he wasn’t going to be allowed to make it better.

: : :

 

When Bobby returned hours later he found Sam in almost a fugue state on the front porch. The boy was chilled through to the bone. Bobby took one look around, noting the missing Impala, and knew that things with his boys hadn’t gone so well. He let out a soft sigh, how could they? Bobby didn’t know what all had gone on – in a way he didn’t want to know – but he knew it was bad. And he knew it was going to take time to get these two brothers back together again.

He helped Sam inside and sat him down at the scarred kitchen table, poured a shot of whiskey, and set it in front of the shivering Sam. “Here, son, drink that down. It’ll calm you some.”

But Sam just looked up at him with a lost hopeless look and shook his head. Bobby could see the iron control it was taking for Sam not to shatter into a million parts.

“No, well that’s alright, too. You’ve got to give him some time, son. He’s been through a lot. You both have. He just needs some space. Give him a month or two, you’ll see, he’ll be back and you two can square things up between you.”

Bobby didn’t like the look he saw in Sam’s sorrowful eyes as he nodded without saying anything and turned away.

: : :

Dean ran out of gas and energy one state over. As the Impala pulled into the truck stop on fumes Dean tried to gather his thoughts. He’d spent miles on the road but could barely remember anything. His chest hurt from crying, and he knew his eyes were red and puffy, tear marks all over his face. Maybe he’d been in shock, if that wasn’t such a girly thing to say. He sat in the Impala and tried to think through what his options were. He searched the glove compartment but there was no money there, no ID. Sam must have scrubbed the car before he went undercover at The Den. 

Dean sat and tried to think. He had to do something to make some cash. Without a grubstake no one would even spot him for a pool game.

Dean leaned his head against the steering wheel and tried to think through his options. He looked up when he heard a voice. “Hey sugar, wanna show a girl a good time?”

A woman, no more than a girl, really, was standing beside the Impala's window. The height of her heels and the shortness of her skirt gave him the first clue as to her profession.

Dean blinked and said the first thing that came to mind. “Ah, sorry, no.”

The hooker blinked at him non-plussed and said, “Your loss, honey,” and walked off toward the truck stop. Dean exhaled raggedly and forced himself to let go of the steering wheel. He licked his lips as he realized the way to put a grubstake together had just presented itself. 

Dean felt his chest tighten at the thought and he breathed deeply, in, out, in, out. How hard could this be?

Swallowing again, he forced himself to open the car door. He looked up and down the lines of transport trucks and realized a little part of him was looking for Ted to suddenly appear and save him again as he had that night long ago. But the trucks idled noisily with no one in sight.

Dean pulled off the suit coat his brother had pushed him into, leaving him in the thin black dress shirt. He rolled up the sleeves and unbuttoned the top two buttons, threw the tie aside and pocketed his keys. He could do this.

: : :

Dean’s knees hit the asphalt in the alley behind the diner, and he knew he had made a terrible mistake. He tried to tamp down the panicked scream attempting to claw its way out of his chest as the hairy paw landed on his shoulder, pulling him in. His skin crawled where the hand touched him and he started to mumble, “No, no, no, no...”

The zip of the man’s jeans had Dean’s breath hitching in his chest, and he closed his eyes, praying to anyone listening to help him get through this.

The final straw came when the man growled out, “Ah come on sweetheart, no need to be shy, open wide.” 

And Dean was back there, Fists shoving into his mouth while Hands pounded into him from behind. Dean’s screams choked by warm flesh, his eyes looking up into the dark merciless pits of his father’s gaze, gasping in a breath each time his father withdrew, and Dean's head snapped back. He was shaking back and forth, screaming, “No, no, no, no, no….Don’t touch me!” 

The next part was a bit of a blur as he rose like a madman, punching and kicking the prospective john mercilessly until the man lay in a bloody heap at his feet. He stood over the broken bloody heap, breath whistling in and out of his flared nostrils. Dean’s knuckles were bleeding and he couldn’t seem to put one and two together of how he had done this. All he knew was, his flesh crawled at the idea of being touched. 

In his peripheral vision he saw a pale hand reach toward him, and without thinking his fist pulled back, ready to smash into whoever else dared touch him.

Somehow Dean was able to stop himself in time before his bloodied knuckles smashed into the pale painted face of the hooker he’d met earlier. She cried out, falling back to the ground, cringing arms up to try and protect herself from the blow. Dean froze, his chest heaving like he’d gone ten rounds with a prize fighter.

“Please….” The hooker pleaded.

Dean dropped his head in shame and looked away. “I-I’m not going to hurt you… jus-just don’t touch me.”

“I heard you cry out, I-I wanted to help.”

“You can’t help me.” Dean whispered, “No one can.”

The hooker crawled over to the beaten man, running her hands over him.

“W-what are you doing?” Dean asked, still stunned by his own actions.

“I’m getting his wallet. That’s the least he can do. Pay up.”

“It-it wasn’t like that…” Dean’s voice trailed off, as shame of what he had done still ran through him.

“There we go.” She pulled out the wallet and riffled through it. Offering it to Dean.

Dean looked at it, torn between what he should do and what he needed to do. Humans weren’t the bad guys here. And this guy had just been horny. Dean’s stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been more than a day since he’d last eaten.

He stood there, still uncertain. The hooker said softly, “Look hon, you don’t look so good and you certainly need to eat. I know this guy, he’s a pig. Take it and run and don’t look back.”

Dean swallowed and looked the hooker in the face for the first time.

“Yeah… thanks. Ummm what’s your name?” he tried to force a smile but it came out more as a grimace.

“Why it’s Trish, hon. Who are you?”

Dean looked at her and couldn’t keep the lost sound from his voice, “I don’t know anymore.”

: : :

Bobby came out on the porch to sign for the new alternator with Sam two steps behind him. The Fed-ex driver scribbled on his etch-a-sketch pad, waved as he climbed back into his truck and drove away. Bobby went back inside, and Sam trailed in after him like some kind of lost puppy. Bobby set the new part on the table and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He splashed some in water glasses he grabbed out of the cupboard and handed one to Sam. 

Sam knocked it back without a blink. He had done this, he had driven Dean away with no money, no identity, nothing. What kind of a man was he? His mind was frantic with guilt and worry. He’d seen the look in Dean’s eyes. His brother was a mess, completely unequipped to handle life on his own right now. Sam shuddered at the thought of Dean, vulnerable and hurt on the road and the predators that might find him.

“Maybe he just needs some time to get himself together,” Bobby offered stoically. “The boy’s been through a lot.”

Sam sat at the table, numb. He couldn’t seem to force his gaze up to look the old hunter in the face. “You too Sam. You can’t blame yourself. It was a spell. A damn strong one too. Nothing you did was under your control, son.” Bobby leaned over and grasped Sam’s shoulder in sympathy. Sam flinched at the touch. “I’d give him a while. If we don’t hear from him in a few weeks, then we go after him,” Bobby continued, and then started getting bread and cold cuts out for lunch.

Sam leaned back in his chair and picked up the bottle Bobby had set on the table and poured himself another shot, a full glass this time. His hand shook as he raised the glass to his lips, “Yeah Bobby, you’re probably right. He just needs some time.” 

Sam knocked the shot back and wondered how monsters got used to living in the full light of day.

: : :

It was like living with a ghost, or a monk. Bobby’s faded blue gaze tracked the too-slim figure as Sam moved silently through the garage. If Sam had kicked and screamed or gone on a bender, Bobby would have understood, would have known what to do. Hell, if the boy had been suicidal, at least Bobby could have locked him in the cellar till he cooled off, but Sam was none of those things. Somehow he was all of them just balled up so tight inside, hell itself couldn’t squeeze it out. Whatever hell Dean had been through, Sam was putting himself through all the same hoops. He barely spoke anymore, didn’t eat except when Bobby threatened him with an ass-whuppin’ and he wouldn’t look Bobby in the eye anymore.

He’d busied himself during the days organizing and filing Bobby’s spare parts. The garage practically gleamed; it was so organized and spotless he almost felt out of place. What Bobby wouldn’t have done for a drop down, drag out fight with some screaming and punching and crying. Anything but this shadow that had replaced the boy – the man – Bobby knew. Sam spent his nights researching. Bobby suspected he was keeping tabs on Dean’s movements, but he didn’t feel he had the right to ask, and every time a car pulled into the drive of Singer Salvage that wasn’t the Impala, Sam’s eyes grew bleaker. After a month of this, Bobby knew something had to change. 

: : :

Dean racked up the balls, by now the other players knew not to touch him. Not to ever fucking touch him. 

Dean sank the first four balls in record time. It was go time. He’d been playing possum with this crew of factory workers and it was time to clean up: best four out of five with over eight hundred dollars on the line. He shifted to the other side of the table and started to line up his shot.

Movement in the crowd at the bar just beyond the table had him flubbing his shot. He cursed and stood up suddenly, eyes scanning the crowd. 

He shook his head, it couldn’t possibly, or maybe it could be. The tall, broad-shouldered figure he’d caught a glimpse of, disappearing into the Friday night crowd – Sam….

The men slapped each other backs and high-fived the one playing Dean good-naturedly.

Dean stood there drinking his beer, half-watching the game, most of his concentration focused on the bar beyond. Trying to ignore his fattening cock as he watched for any sign of Sam. Nothing…

Two shots later the Swiffer factory worker he was playing against missed. Setting his beer aside, Dean rolled his shoulders, cricked his neck back and forth to loosen up, and moved in for the kill.

The bar crowd was starting to thin out as he snatched his money up off the table and downed the last of his beer. He nodded at the factory workers who slumped morosely at the table, and made his way out of the bar. He was shoving clothes into his new duffel as soon as he hit the motel room. He debated a quick shower and jerking himself off, but decided it would be better to not take any chances. He was on the road moments later. If it was Sam in the bar tonight he didn’t want to be tracked back to the motel. He hit the road in the pitch black of night, picking a direction at random and not stopping for two days. 

When he opened the door on his new hotel room outside a small tourist town in Michigan, he couldn’t tell if he was happy or disappointed that Sam hadn’t caught up with him. He opened the laptop he’d taken in lieu of cash from some college students who’d lost to him at pool weeks earlier, and tried to scare up a hunt. He found stories of what looked like a haunting a couple hundred miles over, but somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull the trigger.

Nothing good had ever come of hunting. His father was dead, his brother near enough to him, in this life at least. He didn't want to risk running into any other hunters, either. God knows news burned through the hunter network like wildfire, and stories of Dean’s ‘exploits’ at the Den were sure to have gone everywhere. Dean’s hand shook as he tapped the keypad, closing down the browser window. His skin felt clammy and itchy, but not for the hunt. Dean felt large hands ghost over his thigh and he shivered, knocking the cheap dinette chair where he’d been sitting over in his rush to stand, to be thinking of anything but his brother’s hands on his body, and how wrong that was.

He sucked in a breath and grabbed up the nicely broken in leather jacket he’d found at a Goodwill in Kansas, and headed to the nearest bar. Maybe a bottle of whisky could keep thoughts of his brother and Dean’s pitiful cravings away. 

: : :

Dean stumbled into the latest in a series of what felt like an endless stream of motel rooms. The room spun softly around him but nothing dulled the ache in his heart. He half fell, flopped, onto the bed and rolled onto his back. He’d made over six hundred dollars tonight and thought he’d finally gone to a bar he wouldn’t have to run out of afterward. Even bought the losers a round and stayed to shoot the shit. Things had started to get ugly when one of them clapped him on the back to congratulate him on his win. Dean had the man slammed up against the wall, knife at his throat before he could blink. 

Dean had hastily stumbled out of the bar, apologies to the stunned men on his lips. At least he hadn’t cut any of them, not like the last time. He cursed drunkenly. This would mean he’d have to move towns again. He was gathering quite the nest egg, but he couldn’t seem to take a night off. A night off meant being by himself, thinking, and thinking only led to trouble, Dean had found. He’d have to keep moving one step ahead of trouble. Restlessly, Dean squirmed on the bed and finally unzipped his jeans. Too tired to get undressed properly, he just toed his boots off and shimmied his jeans down around his hips.

Drunkenly he grabbed his dick and started to stroke it. He tried to think of the pretty little waitress in the bar tonight but his mind kept replacing her face with Sam’s. “Not fucking, fucking him… ” Dean mumbled drunkenly as his cock fattened. He kept stroking while Sam’s dark hooded gaze watched him. Dean tossed his head back and forth against the pillow trying to chase the dark image of his brother away but as he got closer he started to whimper and gasp unable to find release. He knew it was wrong, that he should be stronger but he opened his eyes to look up at his master, at Sam, looming over him on the bed. Dean’s mouth was open, his expression pleading as he looked up into his pitiless eyes. Finally Sam said darkly, “Come for me Dean.” 

Dean arched up with a sob, come splattering over his hands and stomach as he shuddered in release.

He lay there panting as he worked himself through the last of it. Shame flooded through him that even now, weeks after leaving Sam, after breaking free, he still turned to his brother for permission to come. Groaning in defeat, he wiped his hand off on the bed cover and twitched the other side of the coverlet up over him. He was fast asleep and snoring within moments. He dreamed of dark tip-tilted eyes, and a shadowed face nodding in approval.

: : :

“Mister, you want something, hey Mister?”

Dean jerked and his eyes flew up to the waitress standing before him. His gaze skittered around the room nervously as he tried to assess how much time he had lost. It had been happening to him a lot lately, losing time. 

Lost in thought, he kept going over the same ground wondering if there could have been a better way to save Sam. Had he gone the route he did because it truly was where he belonged, at Sam’s feet? Maybe his dad and brother had been right all along? Maybe that was all he was good for? And what good had saving Sam done him? Sam was more fucked up than Dean. In the car ride to Bobby’s he couldn’t even stand to look at Dean anymore, couldn't look at the shabby broken thing that was his brother now. Dean shivered.

“Mister, are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

Dean shook his head and stumbled out of the diner, wiping the tears that continued to pour from his eyes. Before him all he could see was John’s sad disappointed face and Sam’s sneer of disdain. 

: : :

The blonde came into the bar and set her purse down on the empty stool beside Dean. She looked frazzled, “Hey Max, get me a beer will ya? Johnny called me in to take over Helen’s shift and I had a heck of a time getting here, what with the storm.”

Dean watched appreciatively from one stool over. She was in her late twenties, blond and pretty, with a straightforward manner that reminded him a little of Ellen and Jo. It was refreshing. 

“Rough day?” He asked casually as he took a sip of his bourbon. The woman gave a startled glance over at him, noticing him for the first time as she tied on her apron. 

“Well not really, just trying to meet a deadline for an essay on economics in the post union world, and hadn’t counted on having to work tonight.” She smiled, checking Dean out in a casual way, a gleam of interest in her eyes. Dean had to clamp down on the instant thought that is was totally the kind of girl Sam would be into, straightforward and smart – that is until his favorite fuck of choice had become his own brother. Dean bit his lip and shoved those thoughts ruthlessly aside. The blond was speaking again and he turned his attention back to her. “Haven’t seen you around these parts before. You new in town?” 

“Just passing through,” Dean smiled, and for the first time in months felt interest rise in someone who wasn’t or didn’t look like Sam. He put on his best smile. It used to come so easily, now it felt like a rictus grin, forced and awkward. “You maybe free for a beer later?”

The blond smiled, “You mean, do I want to sleep with you later?” She laughed as Dean sat back on his stool more than a little surprised, a chagrined look on his face. She chuckled as she twisted her hair into a tight chignon and walked around the bar to put her purse away. She came back to stand before him, hands on her hips. Dean slid off his bar stool and stood in front of her.

A smirk twisted his lips as he tipped his glass of bourbon toward her in salute. “Well, I thought we might get to know each other a bit first.” He let a slow smile steal over his face. She pursed her lips and looked him up and down frankly. “Hmm that’s a shame, because I was interested in jumping your bones. But if you want to get all intellectual I could do that too, after my shift.” 

Dean laughed outright, a short barking laugh. It had been so long since he’d truly laughed. It felt good. He ran a hand through his hair and said, “Well I might be up for that too.” She leaned toward him, her hand gently touching his cheek, and purred, “You’re a tall drink of water aren’t you? I’ll enjoy swapping stories with you later if you’re still around.” The blonde leaned over the bar and called out to Max, “Hey, Max, listen up, this is my new friend,” she looked at Dean questioningly and Dean smirked and supplied, “Dean,”

“Sonya,” she supplied blithely. “Max look after Dean here, get him one of whatever he is drinking. I’ll be back to pick him up later.” And with a saucy twitch of her hips she grabbed up her serving tray and disappeared into the crowd.

Dean sat back stunned, a soft surprised smile on his face, feeling like a real man for the first time since Anna.

***

He sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor and held his head in his hands, uncontrollable tremors running through his body. He flinched as Sonya’s hand reached out to gently touch his shoulder.

“Dean, Dean, don’t worry about it. It’s alright.” She sat up, wrapping the scratchy motel sheet around her, and moved over to the little kitchenette in the room. 

“You got any coffee? I could kill for a coffee.” Dean wanted to smile, but couldn’t. A girl after his own heart. He gestured toward the middle cupboard and tried to still his trembling.

”Mmmm, the good stuff. I see a future for us, Dean.” Sonya inhaled deeply the scent from the jar of coffee and shot Dean a quick grin. “Two cups coming right up.”

Dean shrugged into his t-shirt and boxers, sliding his jeans on before turning to face Sonya. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. He had thought he could do this, but it seemed he was more fucked up than even he had thought. “Sonya…. I….”

She reached out a hand putting her finger to his lips shushing him. “Dean, you don’t have to explain, really. It’s obvious you’ve been through a lot.” She gestured vaguely at his chest, the scars and stripes still littering his body. “Maybe we just rushed this. 'Cause I think you’re a good guy, and believe it or not, I don’t usually do this, especially not with the customers.” She laughed self deprecatingly and turned back to the kettle that had started to boil furiously. “Maybe we should do this the old fashioned way after all, and get to know each other, take it slow. I think we could be good together.” She watched Dean with kind eyes over the top of her coffee cup. Dean jerkily picked up his cup. His body felt all kinds of wrong suddenly, his skin too tight. Guilt swept him in waves and he looked away swallowing hard. “Yeah, yeah.”

When they lay back down in bed it took a major force of will to wrap his arm around Sonya’s waist and pull her in close. It felt wrong hugging her smaller, softer body in to his. His back felt naked and cold, where a larger, firmer frame normally spooned him. He listened till her breathing changed and Sonya fell asleep.

He packed up his bags in the dead of night, taking the time to write the sleeping girl a note. She had tried to be kind. It wasn’t her fault he was twisted all wrong. He was damaged goods, and he had to remember that. As broken as he was now, he would find no succor in the Annas and the Sonyas of the world. He just had to get used to the idea that he was better off alone, that he would be alone for the rest of his life. He grabbed up his duffel and slipped silently out of the room.

: : :

 


	9. And I have Been Consumed

 

 

  


 

: : :

 

A shadowed figure watched Dean from a beat up old pickup. His large hands gripped the wheel of the truck as he watched Dean slip out of the hotel room, get into the Impala, and drive away. Jealously and rage had run through him when he had first watched the slightly inebriated Dean enter the room earlier with the pretty blonde. His gut twisted now with guilt and remorse as he watched Dean leave too quickly, wiping something from his eyes. He started up the truck, cranking the heat. Fall was coming and the cab was cold after sitting there so long. He pulled out onto the road and followed the taillights of the Impala, and tried not to think.

: : :

Dean’s body undulated to the pounding beat; sweat ran into his eyes and he wiped it away, careful not to smudge the kohl outlining his eyes.

He’d stumbled into the bar after a night of drinking, slipping past the doorman with finesse he hadn't thought he was capable of, anymore. He’d staggered drunkenly to a corner table near the bar overlooking the dance floor, not realizing what kind of place he’d happened into, other than that it fulfilled his first priority and had liquor. He’d watched silently as men came and went, arms looped round each other’s shoulders, their hands stuffed deep into each other’s back pockets. Watched in fascination as subs sank to their knees beside leather clad Doms. No fear and no pain, only gentle caring looks exchanged amid the ritual. If only Sam had – had been like that, maybe he wouldn’t have hated him so much. Dean bit his lip and turned his back, losing himself in the music.

He found himself yearning, yearning for someone to care for him as he saw these men cared for, owned, possessed; not subdued by pain and punishment, but out of loyalty and love. Dean stayed on in town, returning to the bar again and again, discovering that his time in the bar filled some empty cavity in himself, soothed the broken parts he'd been trying desperately to hold together.

Dean lost himself in the rhythm and closed his eyes. Sweat trickled down his back and the loose black mesh scraped against the rings in his nipples. He felt safe here, anonymous in the crowd of writhing men, the lights flickering over him amid the sweating, twisting bodies. As long as no one touched him, he was okay. The occasional bump was all right, but no closer; Dean had learned his lesson about getting close to people. Here though, he found freedom and peace in the soft whisper of leather clad bodies, the smell of sex in the air. He never thought he’d find succor and a sense of peace in a leather bar, but the mixture of dominance and submission as collared men knelt freely before their Doms soothed something deep inside him. He didn’t look too closely at those feelings, just enjoyed the sense of calm he had unexpectedly found here.

The song ended, and he made his way to the bar for a drink. He leaned up against it and shortly the bartender, blue streaks dyed into the startling jet black of his hair, came over. The silver mesh of his wifebeater accented the spiked black collar around his neck.

“Get you something buddy?”

“Scotch, neat.” Dean licked his lips, his voice rusty with disuse.

“You shouldn’t do that,” a soft voice said from beside him.

Dean looked up startled into a pair of hazel eyes. The tall leather clad man had dark brown shoulder length hair that reminded Dean of Sam. He felt something warm curl inside him at the thought before the shame rushed in. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a breath. Even simple conversation was difficult for him these days. He usually tried to avoid it, had made a rule to himself to play it safe and stick to answers of one or two syllables, but he acknowledged the fact that he was here for a reason. He had grown lonely, living too long inside his own head. Weeks without any human contact other than hustling pool and, lately, coming here to dance, anonymous in the dark. He hungered to hear a voice other than his own.

He looked up again into the curious eyes and made an exception to his own rule, and spoke. “You not a scotch lover?” Dean said purposefully misunderstanding the man, a playful smirk on his lips.

“No. I’m a great believer in not letting a pair of lips like yours go unkissed.”

Dean could feel himself go tense, no one touched him. No one. But the alcohol buzzing through his system had other ideas and Dean felt relaxed enough to tease back.

“Oh I don’t know. I can come up with all kinds of things for these lips to do.”

The man barked out a sudden laugh and Dean smiled, slow and catlike. The man moved closer.

“So I see you’re uncollared. But you keep coming back, night after night. I’ve been watching you.”

Dean felt sweat prickle on his neck but it wasn’t from the dancing. The bartender returned then, giving the stranger a warning look as he set Dean’s drink down on the bar.

“Is there something you’re looking for? Or are you just having fun?” the man started to reach a hand toward the nape of Dean’s neck. It took everything in Dean’s body to restrain himself from breaking the man’s hand off. He stepped back, proud of himself for his control. The other man pouted, letting his hand drop down to the bar. “What, you don’t want to play with Karl? You are very beautiful, Green Eyes, too beautiful to run around uncollared for long.”

Dean felt an odd thrill at the idea of belonging in that better way, but then the distrust crept in and a chill ran down his spine as he saw the lust in the man’s eyes. He stiffened and put on a false smile. “Ya see it’s not like that. I’m just here to dance, buddy, not looking for anything more complicated than that.”

A flash of plaid caught Dean's gaze over Karl’s shoulders. A pair of broad shoulders and a shaggy head disappeared into the crowd. Dean stood up from his slouching posture and tried to track the figure into the darkness. He could swear it was Sam. Sam… What was his brother doing here?

“Well hell, why didn’t you just say so? I can dance.” Dean looked back startled as Karl spoke, having forgotten his presence in his search for Sam. The man’s hand was now on the bar perilously close to Dean’s, wrapped loosely around Dean’s drink. Dean pulled his hand back slowly out of Karl’s reach, and he twitched slightly as the Karl lifted the drink up.

Karl brought raised the glass to Dean's lips. Dean watched almost hypnotized, allowing it as the man tipped the glass back and the liquor spilled bitter and bracing over his tongue. Swallowing, Dean reached for his glass, but Karl gently pushed his hand away with a quiet murmur, “No baby, let me take care of you, show you how good it could be, then we’ll dance.”

When Karl put the empty glass back down on the bar Dean looked at him with hooded eyes, as he swayed slightly toward him. He wasn’t sure why he had allowed that. He tossed his head as a new song began, and growled, “Sure we can dance. I just have one rule.” At Karl’s cocked brow, Dean continued. “No touching.”

 

They had been dancing for a while and Dean was feeling more and more out of control. His body spun madly in the dark and he could feel himself growing unusually dizzy. Karl leaned down toward his ear and shouted over the din of the music, “Wanna go to the back and play a little? I can show you what a real master is like?”

Dean licked his lips again and closed his eyes. Tremors ran through his body. He gritted his teeth and tried to control the swelling panic. This was all happening so fast, too fast, but maybe this was what he needed now? Maybe this would calm the rage and pain inside him: a master, but not the hurting, painful kind like Hands and Fists. Maybe he could let go, see how good it could feel, to let down his guard with… Someone. Let someone touch him. Someone… not Sam.

Dean stumbled, and Karl caught him up in his arms. Dean tried to stiffen his body at the shock of being touched, but the room was starting to spin. He was held in the cage of Karl’s arms, barely able to stand, but it felt wrong, wrong, wrong, and his skin crawled and he knew he couldn’t do this, might never be able to do this. He struggled to look up, so dizzy. What was happening to him?

Karl leaned toward him and smiled, “What’s your name boy?” the man said.

And Dean cocked his head, confused; couldn’t Karl tell how wrong this was? That Dean’s skin was crawling? But all that happened was that his lips parted, and he whispered out the word, “Dean.”

He could see the disapproval on the man’s face, and some instinct had him rushing to say, “Dean, sir.”

“That’s my boy. You can call me Karl, or sir for now, until we get to know each other better.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean murmured and the world tilted sideways.

“Let me take you somewhere quieter, where you can lie down, you’re not looking so well.” Karl soothed, and Dean nodded. Maybe if he could just lie down he’d feel better.

Karl half carried him to the back of the bar, pulling a silver key from his pocket as he led Dean down a darkened corridor.

“Here’ it’s just you and me now, Dean.” Karl said as he pulled Dean into a dimly lit room.

He maneuvered Dean over to a sturdy table and draped him over it. Dean perked up as the chill surface penetrated the mesh of his shirt. What? He struggled to stand, but Karl was locking one of his wrists into a soft padded cuff.

“What… no, no…" Dean’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“No,” he repeated more loudly as Karl took up his other hand. Dean jerked his hand out of Karl’s grasp and cried, “No!” as he struggled to stay alert. He kicked out with his legs and caught Karl in the shin. He heard the man grunt in pain.

“Let me go. T-t-ake your fucking haanddssss off meee.” Dean’s voice came out as a slurred snarl a full octave lower.

Karl ignored him and growled, “Stay the fuck still, you bitch, gotta get you in position.” And he felt him grab for his leg instead.

Dean could hear the clank of chains and he renewed his struggle. Shock ran through his system, the adrenaline rush giving him a second wind as he forced himself to stand, his feet kicking out at the kneeling man.

“Noooo,” Dean moaned barely able to speak now, his feet catching Karl in the groin. The man grunted and fell back on his ass. “Don’t want this, noooooo, musn’t touchhh.”

Dean lay his forehead on the table, the cool surface of the wood helping keep him conscious.

 A hand in his hair yanked him back, and Karl’s hot breath grazed his cheek as he pulled Dean back against his chest. “Fucking little cocktease! I’ll show you who's boss, bend you over and split you open on my dick. That’s what you want anyway, little cunt.”

“NO. Don’t fucking…wanna….no!” Dean twisted out of Karl’s grip, smashing the man in the face with all his strength. Karl staggered back, but Dean followed up with another blow. His knuckles contacting with the man’s face felt good, and Dean snarled in satisfaction as he watched Karl fall like an axed tree. His head bounced on the concrete floor of the playroom, and he lay unmoving.

Suddenly exhausted, Dean staggered back and slid sideways to the floor, his one arm pulled up awkwardly, still cuffed to the table. He hung there watching the room spin slowly, wondering how he was going to get free. He kicked a booted foot at the unconscious man and snarled, “Didn’t you hear me? Nobody touches me.”

The playroom door was kicked open suddenly, and Sam’s concerned voice shouted, “Dean! Are you alright?”

“Sammy! Good to see you. Nah, I got this. This's totally under control.” Dean let himself sag back against the table legs. He started to laugh hysterically as he leaned in drunkenly and wriggled his bound hand. Everything was so funny and he was so dizzy. He broke into renewed peals of laughter as he smiled up at his brother, “I told him not to touch me Sammy, I told 'im. Nobody touches me now.”

As Dean’s world went dark he heard Sam’s panicked whisper in his ear. “I know you did. I know you did. I gotcha, Dean. You’re safe, nobody’s going to touch you.”

Dean whimpered with Sam’s hand on the nape of his neck like coming home.

: : :

Rocked by the soft hum of the Impala as it sped down the highway Dean slowly returned to consciousness. He groaned. The last thing he remembered…. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he croaked out a gruff, “Sammy?”

“I’m here, man. You’re safe. Just stay calm, I’m taking us to Rufus’s cabin, we’re only an hour out."

“No, don’t wanna….” Dean’s voice drifted off as he realized he didn’t know what he didn’t want anymore.

“It’s okay, Dean, I gotcha. You were roofied, it should wear off soon.”

Dean let his head drop back onto the naugahyde seat and breathed in the reassuring scent of his baby. His mind was going a million miles a minute, but somehow none of it was making much sense. “How did you…?”

“I’ve been following you Dean, tracking you. When you didn’t come back to Bobby’s after a month, I knew I had to come after you. I snuck a GPS chip into the floorboard of the Impala, and I’ve been shadowing you since Michigan. You – you can’t run from this forever, Dean. We have to talk.”

Dean flung his arm over his eyes and moaned, the pain in his skull threatening to blow his head apart. “Whatever Sammy, there’s nothing to talk about. You go your way and I go mine. It’s better that way.”

“I-I can’t do that Dean. I just can’t get it out of my mind, I can’t do it alone, Dean. I need you. We-we’ll talk about it later. You should sleep. You’ll feel better once you’ve slept this off.”

: : :

Sam levered Dean out of the Impala and up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Sam grunted as the full impact of Dean’s weight hit his shoulder and Dean mumbled something in his sleep. His brother was still underweight, his time at the Raiser’s Den having left him slight and fragile. Sam wasn’t used to seeing Dean this way, not the real Dean. Dean was always so strong, so sure. But having watched over him this last month, seen the self destructive impulses that had been driving Dean, Sam wondered how his brother was even still alive at all. The only thing that seemed to have slowed his headlong rush to destruction was stumbling across the leather bar.

Sam’s brows knit. He knew Dean swung both ways, but Dean had never been naturally submissive – it was yet another thing for Sam to be sorry for, another guilt he had to bear from his path to breaking his brother. He laid Dean down gently on the bed in the cabin’s only bedroom. Sam could take the sofa or use his sleeping bag, he didn’t really care. What was important was, he had Dean back. He exhaled a shaky breath as he covered his brother with an old patchwork quilt. Dean sighed and curled onto his side in his sleep.

Sam sat on the side of the bed, resting his hand on the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean looked so small and vulnerable lying there. When had Sam's big brother ever looked that way? Sam rubbed his eyes wearily and pulled the lone rickety chair in the room closer to the bed. He didn’t want Dean to wake up alone and scared. Not anymore, not if Sam could help it.

: : :

The warmth of the sun on his face woke him, and Dean’s eyelids fluttered open. He was indoors, a cabin. He could see trees out the window, he seemed to remember Sam and a car, but that couldn’t be right, he’d left Sam. He hadn’t been all that alert on the way in. He had no idea what time it was but he could tell by the strength and angle of the sunlight coming in the window that it must be late afternoon. He’d slept the day away after…. The memory refused to come, and Dean hastily glanced around the room, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to recall how he’d gotten here. Sonya? No… His breath caught as he noticed Sam slumped in the uncomfortable looking chair by the side of the bed, fast asleep. Sam….

Sam had saved him last night.

Dean’s heart started to hammer wildly in his chest and he scrambled back in the bed until he was plastered up against the wall. What if Sam – ?

Just then Sam’s eyelids cracked open, and Dean watched as his brother’s expression turned from hopeful upon first seeing Dean, to guilt-ridden and sad. Sam raised his hands apologetically, and Dean froze as he watched his brother ease out of the chair and stand carefully. All Dean wanted to do just then was fly out of the room and never look back. The menacing bulk of his brother loomed over the bed, and Dean could feel his chest tightening. Dean wet his lips and tried to gather the shreds of his courage around him. If Sam wanted to hurt him again, he was helpless, but he’d go down fighting.

“De…” Sam’s voice was a soft whisper and Dean forced himself to look up.

“I’m not going to hurt you, man. Never going to hurt you again. I- I just brought you here to talk.”

“Talk about what, Sammy?” Dean spat, his voice stubborn and shrill in his ears. “What do we have left to talk about, Sam?”

“Everything…. I can’t just let you walk out of my life after saving me. I have to tell you how sorry I am.”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “Okay, done. Now let me go, I got nothing to say to you, Sam, nothing that kidnapping me would cure anyway.”

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t kidnap you Dean. I was trying to save you from being raped. That guy at the bar.”

Dean brushed his brother’s words aside, unwilling to see the hurt in those puppy dog eyes as he struggled to remember what had happened.

“You’re exaggerating Sam. I had things under control.”

“Under control? Under control, you mean like this?” and Sam darted forward grasping Dean’s wrists in his dinner plate sized hands, squeezing them together on his chest. Dean struggled and tried to kick out, but his brother’s weight pinned him to the bed, and Dean felt his breathing hitch in panic as he was made helpless once again by his brother’s strength.

Dean let himself slump onto the bed and whispered, his voice hopeless, “Go ahead. Do what you want to me, it’s not like you haven’t before.”

At Dean’s words Sam cried out as if in physical pain. He let go of Dean and staggered back, away from the bed. “That’s not – That’s not what I meant! Goddamn it Dean, you make me so mad!”

“Why don’t you beat me then?” Dean taunted, all the hate and resentment he felt toward his brother filling his voice. He turned his back to Sam and pulled up the mesh shirt he was still wearing, showing off the scars on his back. “It’s what you do right? It’s what you’re good at. Or better yet, fuck me. Is that why I’m here? What – after all this time you couldn’t find a better substitute for your punching bag of a brother?”

Sam’s face worked, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides in fury. Dean held his breath waiting for it to all start all over again. Then Sam turned on his heel and stomped from the room, calling behind him as he left. “I’m going to cook breakfast. If you want to come out and talk like a civilized human being, I’ll be out there, otherwise, sulk in your room feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t care which you do.”

: : :

Dean crept out of the bedroom intent on slipping stealthily toward the door. His head was still pounding from whatever that fuck Karl had slipped him last night. Seeing the main room of the cabin, he finally placed their location; Sam had brought him to Rufus’s old hunting lodge. As he eased closer to the front door he heard Sam’s voice from the kitchen area on the other side of the room, “You’re not going anywhere without the spark plug or your boots, Dean. It’s talk to me or walk the fifty miles to the main highway in your sock feet.”

Dean looked down at his feet and cursed, realizing there had been no shoes in his duffel Sam had left in his room. He glared at the door, his fists clenched. He could do this. He could face his brother; then he’d punch his lights out and get the keys.

: : :

Sam stayed by the stove continuing to fry up breakfast as Dean considered his options. He finally turned back, making his way slowly to the kitchen table, a wary look on his face. Sam pretended nonchalance as he nudged a plate of eggs, bacon and toast toward his brother. “Eat up, it’s all hot. I’ve got coffee brewing.” He knew his brother could smell the freshly perked brew, and he squelched the smile of success threatening to spill across his face as Dean slid carefully into the kitchen chair, acting as though at any moment Sam or the chair might bite.

Sam waited until Dean chomped into a piece of bacon before passing him his coffee without comment. Dean stared suspiciously at the steaming cup, then took a sip. The soft moan that came from his lips at the first taste had Sam hardening in his jeans. Blushing furiously at his reaction, Sam turned quickly to busy himself serving up his own breakfast. He waited till both of them had eaten their fill, his eyes focusing on the dark bruises on Dean’s wrists, wondering if he had caused them, or if they were from last night. He shook his head, trying to push the all-encompassing guilt aside before beginning. “Dean…”

“Sammy, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But we have to, Dean. You saved my life. You broke the spell. I OWE you. And after all the things I did to you, after the way I hurt you, don’t you think I at least owe you an apology?”

“Wasn’t you Sammy, it was the spell.” Dean barked out stubbornly.

“Then why are you so angry? Why can’t we talk? Why can’t you let yourself be touched, by anyone, now?”

Dean’s gaze snapped up toward Sam, and he sucked in a breath. Sam dropped his head, licking his lips to stall for time. He had seen his brother, seen him night after night flinch when anyone touched him or came too close. Seen how broken he was and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Don’t you get that I know what a monster I am Dean? What I did to you? Don’t you think I stay awake at night reliving the horror of everything I’ve done? Wondering why I didn’t struggle harder against it? I should have done something, I should have been better, stronger, more like you…”

Sam reached out to take his brother’s hand in his and breathed out a breath of relief when Dean didn’t flinch at his touch. “I hurt you so much, Dean, and you stood by me, you saved me. I can’t ever repay that, but I don’t want you to punish yourself for anything you did, any way you acted. You were just surviving. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be under that spell, hurting people, hurting you. God Dean, I owe you my life. I don’t care if you can’t love me anymore, or don't want to be my brother. But I can’t leave you so broken, blaming yourself, beating yourself up and letting yourself be used. Not when it’s all my fault. You don’t deserve that.”

Dean snatched his hand back and flinched at Sam's words. He stared at his brother, eyes wide and hurt, his secret revealed, cut open and exposed. And then he jumped up and ran.

: : :

Dean slammed out of the cabin. The chill October air hit him like a blow, but sock feet or not, he couldn’t stay there any longer, couldn’t look into Sam’s wide, knowing eyes as his weakness was laid bare. Ignoring the road, he darted into the trees and took off. He could hear Sam behind him, calling, but tears ran down Dean’s cheeks, obscuring his view. He couldn’t stand the thought of Sam seeing him so weak. Not again. He stumbled down a slight incline and wound up rolling downhill. Breath knocked out of him, he staggered to his feet and stepped back as Sam leapt over the same incline, hurtling after him.

Dean’s feet hit water and he was falling, staggering backwards, his balance precarious on the slimy rocks of the small stream at the bottom of the hill. Sam somehow kept his balance as he came down the hillside, only to slip at the end and lurch toward Dean. The two of them fell into the icy brook, submerging and rolling under the water. Fighting for air, both of them came up spitting and gasping.

“Won’t let you go Dean, not like this, not until we talk this through.”

“Fuck you Sam! I’m tired of being your slave, taking your orders. Not gonna happen, little brother.”

“Would you listen to yourself for a minute? I’m not trying to order you around. I’m just trying to talk. Can we not do that anymore? Can we not talk? Or is force all you understand, now? Have I broken you that badly?” And suddenly Sam was crying brokenly, his giant frame shaking as he slid boneless to his knees, taking Dean down with him as he fell sobbing uncontrollably into the icy water. Sam moaned and fell back, and Dean grabbed at him, trying to keep his flailing brother from sliding further under the current, scrambled to wrestle his giant of a brother above water, shaking him.

When they came up for air moments later, anger pumped hot and sweet through Dean as he yelled down at Sam, furious, “No you don’t, Sammy. You don’t get out of this so easy. You don’t get to quit. Get u,p Sam. Get up.” Dean kept on tugging Sam to standing, till icy water was shedding off them. They stood hip deep in the brook staring at each other in shock.

Dean came to his senses first and grabbed Sam’s bicep, pulling him from the brook.

“Come on we can’t stay here. It’ll be the death of us. Even hot as you are, it won’t insulate us from the cold forever.”

Sam stared at Dean in shock, his mouth opening and closing as his brother bundled him toward the shore. By the time they got back to the cabi,n it was near sunset and both of them were shivering with cold, steam coming off their clothes in the chill air.

Inside the cabin Dean stripped a weakly protesting Sam of his clothes and shooed him off to take the first shower. “You’re worse off than me, you go first.”

: : :

Pruney, and with no better answers, Dean finally left the security of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, and darted across the hall to the bedroom to dig out some fresh clothes. He’d seen his duffle lying next to the bed.

The bedroom room was dark when Dean entered and, guided by the light from the main room, he reached for the light switch. He heard Sam’s voice out of the darkness.

“Don’t. Leave it off, Dean.”

The bed creaked and a figure moved through the room. Dean was suddenly crushed to Sam’s chest. Sam was crying, messy with tears like he’d been sitting there sobbing. He leaned into his brother and rested his chin on the top of Dean’s head, pulling him in close. Teardrops fell scalding onto Dean’s bare back as he was clutched in a death grip and Sam croaked, “Oh God Dean, God! How can you ever forgive me?”

The depth of misery in Sam’s voice caused Dean’s heart to swell with hurt. He closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer of thanks to Bobby, and to God, or whoever was running things up there, that his brother was back and, that in spite of all the pain, that he was cured. He sent another prayer to give him the strength to not screw this up any further than he had already.

He felt tears start to trickle down his own cheeks in response, and he breathed in the scent of Sam surrounding him, holding him safe instead of in pain. It felt good to be hugged. It had been a long time since Dean had been held in tenderness and affection. Like a brother… The overwhelming feeling of safety and ‘home’ had Dean unable speak right away and turned his head away in the darkness and just held Sam, savoring the feeling of holding his brother for the first time in years.

Sam misinterpreted his silence and stepped back. Dean wrapped his arms around him at the sudden chill from the absence of Sam’s warm body as his brother rushed out, “I know, I know you can never forgive me. I don’t know why I thought you might. I’ll make it up to you, Dean, do whatever you want, leave you and never speak to you again, but I – I’d rather have you in my life if you think you could stand it? If you think you could just give me a chance? I-I’ll never touch you if that’s what you want Dean. I-I’d just be lying if I said I didn’t want to. It’s sick, I know, to want you that way. You’re my brother for God’s sake, and I know that’s wrong, but I do. I-I just had to tell you how I feel, and that I’m so, so sorry for everything I’ve done to you, except that. You and me together is one of the best things that’s ever happened in my life, you’ve always been there for me, Dean, raised me, protected me. I just don’t want to lose you.”

Large hands reached out tentatively to unwrap Dean’s hands, still clenched protectively around his sides, and hold them in his warm grasp. Dean looked down and, with the dim light filtering in from the main cabin, watched fascinated as Sam rubbed gentle circles over the palms of his hand. A spike of arousal went through Dean at the tender touch. He struggled to collect his thoughts, to find the right words, fumbling for what to say. A strained silence began to fill the room.

“Sammy…” Dean’s voice was rough and cracked with emotion, he looked up at Sam, but Sam refused to meet his eyes, looking resolutely at Dean’s hands. Dean waited. Eventually Sam’s hands stilled in their efforts, and Sam dropped them in defeat and began to turn away. Dean quickly grasped one of his brother’s hands, anchoring him by his side. With the other hand, Dean reached to touch Sam’s face. He felt a tremor run through his brother, and he gently raised Sam’s chin, forcing his brother to look him in the eyes.

Sam’s gaze tried to slide away, but Dean held on and finally he sighed and looked at Dean. Dean could see the shame that colored his brother’s cheeks.

Sam whispered, “Dean, I wanted to give you your space. Time to recover. I thought I could handle it if you don’t want me in your life. I thought I could, but – but I’m not that strong, a-and after what I’ve done to you, the things I’ve done, I don’t know how you can even look me in the face anymore.”

Dean swallowed and resisted the impulse to close his eyes in pain. He knew Sam would interpret it wrongly. He gathered his nerve. Words were never Dean’s strong suit, actions were, but he couldn’t let Sam leave thinking this was all his fault. Sam needed him right now, needed the love and assurance of his big brother. “Sammy, it wasn’t you. I’ve known since the beginning that it wasn’t you. The witch put a spell on you. You-you weren’t responsible. You and Dad, that wasn’t on you, man.”

“But it was, Dean, some part of me knew it was wrong, and I didn’t question it, didn’t struggle against it. I should have tried harder. And it doesn’t even begin to explain the last two weeks, the ways I had you, fucked you and enjoyed it. I kept telling myself I was being better to you than ‘enspelled Sam’, but that's no excuse for what I did. What I put you through. I fucked up everything and God, Dad’s dead now and I didn’t even ask all this time... I don’t even know where he’s buried.”

“I had him buried in Lawrence, Sam, next to mom. It seemed like the best thing to do. He asked me to save you before he died, you know? It was his last request. He wanted us to be together again, as brothers.”

Realization dawned on Dean as the words left his mouth. It was like he was seeing the whole situation clearly for the first time in months, seeing all the jagged pieces laid out before him. He’d been so busy trying to put himself back together again he hadn’t thought of what Sam had gone through. Yes he had been raped and brutalized, and no one could deny that. But so had Sam. In some ways, what Sam had gone through was almost worse, because it would be so hard to acknowledge him as a victim in the face of Dean's obvious torment. Looking at his brother now Dean could finally see how obviously broken Sam was after Dean's rescue. The tears that welled in his eyes now were for Sam's heartbreaking offer to leave, for Dean's sake.

He brushed back the tears and looked at Sam and saw the baby he helped raise, the little boy he taught, the kid he protected, and the person he loved more than anybody else on earth. A witch had put a horrible spell on his Sammy, and took _* his *_ Sammy away. Dean had to get him back, not because he'd been conditioned to need his brother like that, but because Dean actually wanted his baby brother back whole and sane. He had to find the strength somehow to stand up on his own two legs and reach out to the kid he'd always loved, and try to convince him he'd forgiven him for all the things (awful, terrible things) he had done when he had no way to * _not_ * do them. So what if Dean was still trying to put himself back together, he had to find a way to reach out to Sam. Dean had to be the big brother.

 

Sam stood there, stock still for a moment and then finally whispered out, “I don’t know if I can do that, Dean.”

Dean rocked back, a little shocked that Sam would change his mind so fast. “Well if you can’t be with me, Sam, I-I understand. I just don’t want you to blame yourself.”

“No, God, not – that’s not what I meant,” Sam rushed to say. “What I mean is, I’m not sure I can be that man for you Dean. I-I’ve done such horrible things…. I love you. I want to love you. I’m just afraid of hurting you again, of letting you down. That would be a worse torture than never seeing you at all.”

Dean licked his lips again, his mouth so dry it hurt. “I can’t say this is going to be easy, Sam, but we are always better together. We're two parts of a whole, man, and any recovery is going to go better when we're both involved. I wish I could say I’m the Dean of before the spell and everything’s okay, but it won’t be for a while. Hell,” Dean looked down at where he held Sam in his arms, “Up till you just now, I couldn’t even stand for anyone to touch me. I never expected this… I’d worked so hard to learn how to be free. Then when I went back in to pull you out, it all came back worse than before, but you were different somehow. I think breaking the spell with Dad lessened it some, because you were a cruel controlling bastard, sure, but you weren’t as evil anymore. And maybe it’s sick, but you got under my skin too. I’ve craved you like a drug, and I’ve felt so broken and ugly and wrong. How could I want that, Sam? It’s sick! You’re my baby brother. But every time we fucked… so it wasn’t just because I had to, toward the end – I wanted it. Maybe the training was just so ingrained I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’m so totally fucked in the head I’ll never be right again, but if I’m honest, I can’t see living without you either."

Sam pulled away from the embrace, enough so that he could look up at his brother. Dean could see the light from the hall reflected in his eyes.

“But there’s a lot of rage and fucked-upness in me too.” Dean went on. “You betrayed me, Sam. Of all the things you did, those last two weeks are the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, because you didn't even try to let me know. I know you think you had your reasons, Sammy, but it hurt me deeper than anything else, and I gotta have time. I have to work this through in my head. I feel so worthless now, not even a man anymore. I-I haven’t even been able to hunt, Sam or….”

Dean’s voice was a broken whisper in the dark and Sam rubbed his back in soothing circles. Dean’s breath hitched, and he forced himself to continue, “I don’t know if I can ever be the big brother you used to look up to, again. None of the pieces fit. I don’t know if I can help you heal the way you need to, but I’m willing to try."

Dean waited for a few moments before he heard the slight intake of Sam’s breath before he spoke.

“You’re not broken, Dean and I could never be disappointed in you. I’ll give you all the time in the world. Just – just don’t leave me, all right?” Sam stepped back, and Dean moaned and tugged his brother’s arm, reeling him in so that he was pulled tight up against Dean's chest.

“Then if we do this we have to try and leave the guilt and blame behind, right? A fresh start Sammy, yeah? You with me? ” Dean’s voice was soft in Sam’s ear, “A fresh clean start.” Dean’s hands wrapped gently around his brother and he found he didn’t mind having Sam touch him, as his Sammy leaned into his warmth. In fact, holding his baby brother like this left him feeling closer to right, maybe even closer to whole, for the first time in years.

Sam sobbed softly into Dean’s neck, and Dean manhandled his exhausted brother under the covers and slid in beside him, rocking him gently in his arms as he whispered reassuring nonsense until Sam cried himself to sleep. Dean lay there in the darkness, his mind at peace, the warm weight of his brother as he snuffled up against him in his sleep calming him.

: : :

Morning light was seeping through the windows, and a soft smile curved Dean’s lips as he finally began to drift off. He wanted to catch a few hours’ sleep before he had to face Sam’s guilt, and his own, and whatever else the world wanted to throw at them. But for now, he needed rest.

Dean pulled Sam in closer and inhaled the warm clean scent of his brother, his face buried in the crook of his neck, like when they were young. The silky strands of Sam’s hair, softer than the finest cotton pillowed under his cheek. Dean sighed as his brother’s warmth began to soak into Dean’s lean frame. He kissed the nape of Sam’s neck and whispered, “Love you Sammy.” As he drifted off to sleep with his brother safe in his arms, Dean thought maybe there was a chance things would work out all right after all. Maybe they had finally found their way, as they stumbled toward the spires of freedom.

 

Fin

 

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